A Life in Crisis
by InfinityStar
Summary: Stunned after his final encounter with Gage, Goren seeks peace and some way to put his life back together. Post-Frame.
1. The Price of Freedom

"You're free now. Bobby, you're free."

Eames watched through the one-way glass, her eyes riveted to her partner's face. Gage's words sent a tremor of rage through her body. _Free_? What the hell did he mean by that? Gage murdered Frank and Nicole...to set him _free_?

She had to admit, Gage knew Goren. Gage knew that he blamed himself because no one ever came through for him. He knew that Goren felt it his destiny to be alone in life, with few people that really cared about him. Gage acknowledged that she was one of those few. Right now, her stomach churned with worry for Goren and hatred for Gage.

She looked at Ross before leaving the room to follow the two uniformed officers into the interrogation room. As they pulled Gage to his feet and cuffed him, the old man kept his eyes on Goren. "You'll thank me, Bobby. Some day, you will thank me."

Goren didn't look at him, but he heard Eames telling the officers to get Gage out of there. _Yes, get him out._ He folded his hands on the table in front of him but did not look up. A hand settled on his shoulder, a small hand. _Eames_...

"I'll take care of the booking, Bobby," she said.

Her voice was soft, kind. He inclined his head, acknowledging the fact that he heard her. He was unable to say anything, to thank her, but he sensed words were unnecessary. She knew. Her hand tightened on his shoulder, as if in response to his thoughts. Then it fell away and he felt a sudden empty sensation, followed by panic and a need to insulate her from Gage, from the poison he had injected into his life, into their lives. But he couldn't move, couldn't talk, and she was gone.

The door closed and he scrubbed his hands over his face, propping his elbows on the table. He paid no attention to the time that passed as he sat there, numb. He tried to form some connection to his emotions, but he found none. He was past the ability to feel.

The door opened, then closed, but he did not move. The chair across from him, recently occupied by Gage, scraped the floor and he heard it shift under the weight of a man. After a long moment, he looked up.

Ross sat there, watching him, his green eyes filled with both curiosity and compassion. "That was a difficult interview for you, and I appreciate that, detective. I know you are close to Gage, and what he did...it must be difficult for you."

Goren nodded acknowledgment, but he made no clarification to Ross. He remained silent, and the captain went on. "It seems that Nicole Wallace is now out of commission permanently. How do you feel about that?"

Goren stared at his hands for a long time. How _did_ he feel? He wasn't up to having this conversation, but something deep inside him gave voice to his thoughts. "I...I don't know, captain. She...challenged me like no one else ever did. She kept me guessing, always running just half a step ahead of me. No one else has ever been able to do that."

"She was a criminal, detective."

"I know that. But...I would have preferred a different ending to our relationship. I would have preferred to...to deal with her myself, on my own terms."

"What terms would those be? Murder?"

Slowly, Goren raised his eyes to look at Ross. "You would like to hear me say yes." _The serial killer's son, inclined to follow in his father's footsteps..._

"Not necessarily. I'm looking for an honest answer."

"Honestly...no. I don't think I would have had it in me to kill her...unless..."

He trailed off and when he didn't speak again, Ross pressed him. "Unless?"

"If she forced me into making a choice between her and Eames...I would always choose Eames."

"You and Eames have had a rocky time the past few years."

Now Ross was venturing into territory Goren had no desire to discuss with him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his fingers into his temples and rubbed small circles to no avail. His head still pounded. He still had not wrapped his mind around what Gage had told him. _Free, my ass,_ he mused bitterly. When the enormity of what Gage had done finally hit him, it wasn't going to be pretty.

Ross reached out a hand and touched Goren's arm. It was a gesture meant to convey compassion, but Goren pulled his arm away. Forcing his eyes open, Goren glared at his captain, his face stormy. But he was caught off guard by what he saw. Compassion shone in Ross' eyes, and it meant something to him. Eames, he knew, would always feel compassion for him, but Ross? To see that in the captain's eyes, it had an impact. His body trembled under the force of the emotions that suddenly coursed through him, emotions with neither definition nor connection. He looked away. The chair scraped against the floor, and the door opened and closed. He was alone again.

He did not have the energy to move, so he remained where he was, head resting against his hands, alone.

* * *

Eames took care of the booking, charging Gage with the murder of Nicole Wallace. They had her heart, ultimate proof that she actually did have one, and they had Gage's confession. _Tell Bobby he's the only man I ever loved._ Those words cut right into her. That was not something Goren had needed to hear, not that Gage cared. Given his history in law enforcement, the DA would likely cut him a deal that would involve imprisonment in a hospital setting. Bobby had made it clear that Gage was losing his mind. Gage had been so confident that Bobby would solve the case, he had not hesitated to frame him for his brother's murder. He banked on Bobby's intelligence and skill to overcome the emotional traumas he'd recently been through and solve the case. Gage had put himself on the chopping block in order to bring Bobby back into his own, to restore the passion for truth and the thrill of the chase to his tortured soul. And he had succeeded. But at what cost? Had Gage foreseen that his efforts could have brought Goren to his knees, maybe even destroyed the man? She doubted it.

There was no hiding her anger and resentment. She was seething and Gage easily read her. "You don't like me, Detective Eames."

"How can you tell?" she snapped, not trying to keep the sarcasm from her tone.

"Believe me when I tell you that everything I did, I did to save him."

"Save him? You've got to be kidding me."

Gage spoke with clarity, and she wondered how much of his mind he actually had lost. Maybe it just went wandering from time to time. "Do you have any idea what you mean to him, Detective Eames?"

"I'm his partner." It was the only answer she was inclined to give him. She was not going to talk to Gage about the man he tried to destroy, whether he actually meant to or not.

Gage kept talking. "I am the father that Bobby never had. I care about him more than either father of his ever did. And yet, when you were missing, he turned on me when he thought I had something to do with your disappearance."

_You did have something to do with it. You raised the psychopath who tried to kill me._ But she refused to give him the satisfaction of a verbal answer.

And he went on. "Because of his upbringing, Bobby does not form attachments easily. It took time for me to earn his trust. You are the only other person outside his family, aside, perhaps, for Nicole, that he has formed a strong attachment to. I am being removed from his life and Nicole is dead, so now, all he has is you. Take care of him, Detective Eames."

Eames thought it ironic to hear those words coming from the man who orchestrated Frank's death, the man who killed Nicole Wallace. As much as she had always hated Nicole, her fate had to leave her partner feeling incomplete. There was no resolution for him in her death. None at all. The dance was done, but it was incomplete. The challenge was gone and, in reality, no one won the game. So he was floundering, and she wasn't sure she could reach him. She wasn't sure anyone could.

She heard Gage calling after her as she left following his booking, but she did not hesitate. Nothing he had to say held any interest for her. Her mind was focused on one thing. She had to get back to her partner.

* * *

When Eames returned to the squad room, Ross was waiting for her. "He's still in there," he told her. His words were soft; his voice was filled with concern. "He's just sitting there."

She looked toward the interrogation room and then she looked back at Ross. "He didn't kill his brother. He doesn't have the heart of a killer."

Ross nodded. "I realize that." He looked around as though he'd lost something. Finally, he looked back at her. "Take care of him, Eames."

Ross walked away, and Eames wondered just what he meant. Make him better? She didn't have that ability. Lately, all she had was the ability to tear him down. Before she went into the interrogation room, she stepped into the observation room and watched him. She knew that as soon as she entered the room, he would change. Somehow, he would seem stronger than he was, tell her he was okay, that he was going home and he'd call her later. And they would both know he was lying. He wasn't okay, and he wouldn't call.

She watched him where he sat, not moving, just staring blankly at the table in front of him. He was tense and she knew that one small push in the wrong direction, and he was going to fall apart like a Lego construction. She'd never been great with Legos...what the hell was she going to do with him? _Take care of him._ She had to, somehow. She had to find a way to reach him. Nicole always managed to find her way to the heart of him, but she lashed out to injure, to take a part of him and claim it as her own. Eames did not know how to do that, to reach out and find her way into the heart of him. But she had to find a path; she _had _to find a way to his heart.

As she continued to watch him, she felt an unaccustomed warmth fill her. She was overcome with affection for the shell-shocked man sitting alone in the gray room on the other side of the glass. Her heart brimmed, not with pity, but with love. She did not know how to transfer that deep affection from her heart to his, but there had to be a way to reach him, and she was determined to find it.

She left observation and slowly opened the door into the interrogation room. She wondered how receptive he would be to her now. She sure had lashed out at him often lately, drilling into him with sharp words, leaving wounds because he had hurt her in some way and she wanted to get back at him. Or worse, ignoring him, giving him the cold shoulder because she was hurt and, in her opinion, he deserved it. He had worked very hard to make it up to her, in his own uncertain way. And she had forgiven him, although she wasn't so sure he knew that.

* * *

Goren's mind wandered away from the room where he sat, into the past, before Gage came to New York, before his descent into the dark realm of the minds he spent his long career profiling. _Sebastian_. That case was the beginning of the end for the brilliant man who had taught him to profile the criminal mind. _Get into their heads, Bobby. Understand their motivation, and you're almost there!_

_Dammit, Bobby! These are criminals! They do not deserve your compassion!_ But he _did _feel compassion, even for the worst of them. John Tagman. Nelda Carlson. Nicole Wallace. _Nicole_...His emotions roiled through his chest into his head, where they added to his headache. She was dead, in _his _name. What was he supposed to do with that? How was he supposed to handle it?

He did not hear the door, so he was surprised when movement in front of him drew him back to the present. He focused on the woman who lowered herself into the chair most recently occupied by the captain. She met his eyes, looking deep but remaining silent. She knew, somehow, that now was a time to remain silent, not a time to tell him what to do or how to feel. She watched him, and she waited.

He remained silent, and she finally stretched her hand toward him. His eyes shifted and he watched her fingers slide along the back of his hand. More than that, he felt the tender touch of skin on skin, and he lifted his eyes back to hers. "Is he..." What did he want to know? "Is he all right?"

She did not withdraw her hand. Instead, she slid her fingers closer, bringing her palm down onto his hand. "Is Gage all right?" she repeated, managing with difficulty to mute her surprise. "What about you, Bobby? I don't give a damn about Gage, but I _do _care about you. I'm allowed to care about _you_."

Her admission that she cared about him was exactly what he needed to hear at that moment. Slowly, he lowered his head until his forehead came to rest on her hand. He had no control over the emotion that caused his body to tremble. Gently, her other hand came to rest on his head and she stroked his hair. He felt nothing but affection from her in that moment, and it was exactly what he desperately needed.

In his nightmares, he still saw her busting through the door into Testarossa's office, gun at the ready, pointed at his head as he held his gun leveled on her. _If it had been anybody else...you would be dead._ He did not doubt that for a moment. But it hadn't been anybody else, and he'd found himself in the lethal position of staring down the barrel of Alex Eames' gun. He'd lowered his immediately, and she arrested him. He still had no idea what she'd been thinking, if she thought he actually had turned bad. He found that was something he really didn't want to know.

At the moment, though, resting his head against her hand as she stroked his hair, he felt only comfort and affection from her. She was giving him what he needed without reservation, reaffirming their connection, something he thought he had lost.

* * *

Ross kept looking up from his desk toward the interrogation rooms, waiting for Goren and Eames to emerge. Finally, they came into the squad room proper and he watched them. There did not seem to be any tension between them, but Goren looked drained. Rising, he went to the door and called to him. "Come in here, please, detective."

He did not miss the fact that the big detective looked at Eames before he crossed the room to his office. Ross waited until he closed the door before he held out a bulky envelope. Goren frowned as he took it. Opening the envelope, he pulled out a brief note.

_Dear Detective Goren,_

_You probably don't remember me. Five years ago, you and your partner brought my son's killer to justice. Six months later, his beautiful girlfriend gave birth to my grandson, the joy of my life. I have been able to get past losing my son because you gave us a chance to have closure although I will always grieve for my loss. I was recently in contact with Jimmy Deakins, and he told me of the personal challenges you have faced over the last two years. I am pleased to make this offer to you. I have a vacation home in Branford, Connecticut, near the Thimble Islands, in a nice community called Stony Creek. It's a beautiful rambling home in a quiet location, and I would be honored if you would be my guest there for as long as you need to recover your bearings. Please, let me do this for you to thank you for what you have done for me. More than anything, I appreciated your kindness during the most trying period of my life. Accept my sympathy for your losses and take the time you need with my gratitude._

_Sincerely,_

_Carole Mayfield_

In addition to the note, the envelope held a key and a paper with an address on it and directions to Mrs. Mayfield's summer home. He looked at Ross, who said, "We think it's a good idea, detective."

"We?"

"Dr. Olivet and myself." He waved a hand. "Don't look at me like that. You're not being ganged up on. You have been through a hell of a lot lately, and we think time away is exactly what you need. After your brother's memorial, go. Don't worry about Eames. She can help Wheeler while I look for a replacement for Logan. It's time to look after yourself, detective. Get some good rest and let yourself recover."

Goren's jaw knotted and he closed his fist over the envelope. The last time Ross had forced him to take time off he'd ended up almost dying, followed by a six month suspension. What the hell was going to happen to him this time?

Eames watched him come out of the office and walk to his gun locker. He placed his weapon in it, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. Turning, he looked at her, meeting eyes that were filled with concern. He held up the envelope. "I have time off, to rest and recover. I don't know why people can't just leave me alone to deal with things my way."

Quietly, she said, "Your way isn't always the best way, Bobby."

"Do you agree with him?"

"I don't know, but he outranks me. And Olivet does agree with him."

He sighed. "I don't seem to have a choice in the matter."

She tried to sound reasonable. "You know that if you stay here, all you'll do is go to visit Gage and dwell on what happened."

He looked at her, but he did not raise his gaze any higher than her mouth. "So now all I'll have to do is dwell on it, somewhere in Connecticut, alone. That's such a better option."

He started to walk away. "Bobby." He stopped but did not turn. "Frank's memorial?"

"He was cremated yesterday. The memorial is tomorrow at 9, at St. Justin's. I-I thought that was...fitting."

She understood. "It is fitting. I'll see you in the morning, then. In the meantime...if you need me, call. Please."

He hesitated before finally nodding. As she watched him leave, she knew he wouldn't call. As always, he would deal with his feelings alone, whether it was good for him or not. She wanted to reach out to him, but she was tired of getting shut out. He was in a place where no one could reach him, and her gut churned with worry as she watched him leave.


	2. Branford

Goren packed his bag and put it in the back seat of his car. He still wasn't sure about going to Branford, but since Carole Mayfield had been so generous, he wasn't willing to hurt her feelings. He drove to St. Justin's for the memorial Mass for his brother. Genuflecting, he slid into an empty pew in the center of the church and let his mind drift over the course of his brother's life, wondering how he had escaped a similar life of drugs and gambling, living hand to mouth, having to decide whether the money in his pocket would buy his next meal or his next fix.

He turned his head when Eames slid into the pew beside him. He gave her a half-smile. "You didn't have to come," he whispered.

Returning his smile, she said, "Yes, I did. You need me to be here, whether you know it or not."

"I'm not sure what I know right now."

"Then let me help you out." She reached out and grasped his hand, entwining her fingers with his. "I am here for you because I am more than your partner. I'm your friend."

He sat there in silence, not sure how to respond. She held his hand through the Mass, and he appreciated her being there.

After the Mass, he walked her to her car, parked just down the street from his. "Thank you, Eames."

She reached out and squeezed his hand. "You're welcome. Are you off to Branford now?"

"Yes."

"Take care of yourself, and try to relax. If you need me, I'm just a phone call away."

He nodded. "I'll remember that."

She reached up and pressed her lips against his cheek. He closed his eyes, and she whispered, "Remember this, too. I care about you, very much, because I love you."

She stepped away and walked around her car, sliding in behind the wheel. He backed away from the car as she pulled away from the curb. He touched his cheek, where he could still feel her lips, burning against his skin. No, he wouldn't forget that. He walked slowly to his car, slid in, and sat there for a minute. Eames didn't know it, but her muted compassion touched him deep inside, loosening the tight grip of shock and grief he'd been suffering from. It was a start. Then he started the engine and drove off.

* * *

Goren stood in the driveway and looked at the two story Victorian that sprawled in front of him. He checked the address. This was the right place. He pulled his bag from the back seat of the Mustang and proceeded up the walk and onto the porch. Letting himself in the front door, he dropped his bag and wandered around the first floor of the home. The living room was almost as big as his place, with cathedral ceilings two stories high. Off the living room was a den, a family room and a dining room. Passing through the dining room, he entered a spacious kitchen. Off the back of the kitchen was a laundry room. The laundry room had a door that opened onto the back deck, which overlooked the ocean.

He climbed the stairs wearily and walked around the second floor, glancing into each of the five bedrooms that encircled the open space above the living room. The master bedroom was spacious and tastefully decorated. Two bedrooms were obviously guest rooms. The other two had to belong to Carole's widowed daughter-in-law and her beloved grandson. If he remembered right, the boy's father was Carole's only child.

He pulled the door to the little boy's room closed and returned to the living room, where he looked at the pictures that decorated the walls and the mantel.

_What am I doing here? This is someone's home._

The only thing that kept him from leaving was the pleading tone of the letter from Carole Mayfield. _Please let me do this for you._

_A few days,_ he promised himself. Then he'd go back to the city and resume his life. A few days and he could easily profess to be fine. Then, he could heal in his own surroundings, in his own time. _And Eames will be there._

A quick survey of the kitchen confirmed this was a vacation home, and he was going to need food for the few days he planned to be there. So he grabbed his keys and left.

He spent a half hour in the grocery store and ten minutes in a nearby liquor store before he drove back to the house. After putting everything away, he decided to stave off boredom by taking a walk around Stony Creek. As much as he resented being there, he did like the charm of New England's small towns and villages.

As he walked along Thimble Island Road, he looked out to sea. Although he hated the beach, he was awed by the power of the sea. He loved to watch a storm roll in off the ocean. The more powerful the waves were, the better he liked it. The ocean was restless, always in motion, and he felt the same way, restless, agitated. Even in sleep, he did not rest. More than tired, he was world-weary.

Lost within himself, Goren wandered along the coastal road until he heard a noise behind him, followed by an exclamation, "Oh, nuts!"

He turned in time to stop a rolling can with his foot. Bending over, he picked it up, along with several other cans, a half dozen oranges, and two apples. He brought them to the woman who scrambled to gather the rest of her wayward groceries. Repacking the bags for her, he said, "Let me carry these for you."

Her eyes glowed when she smiled. She had Irish eyes, amber with flecks of green that radiated genuine warmth. She was of medium height and build, with shoulder-length auburn hair and a face full of freckles. _Those must have been adorable when she was little,_ he thought. She place an apple in one of the bags. "Thank you very much. I apologize for disturbing you..." She held out her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists. "...but my grip fails me from time to time. This was one of those times."

"I don't mind."

She fell in step beside him. "My name is Ellie. Ellie Stuart."

"Stuart—that's a Scottish name."

"Yes. My father was Scottish; my mother is Irish."

He nodded, noting the obvious expression of her heritage in her face. "I'm Robert Goren."

"You're new around here."

"I'm just visiting for a few days."

"Welcome to Stony Creek, then. Are you staying at the motel?"

"No. I'm at the Mayfield place."

She smiled. "My mother's house is about a block and a half up the street from the Mayfield's. That's where I'm staying. Do you know Carole?"

"In passing. I helped her a few years ago."

"Back when Jeremy died?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"That was a horrible tragedy. Have you met his son?"

"Uh, no. I haven't."

"He looks just like his father, and he's so much fun. I can't believe he's four already. He and I like to gather shells down on the beach. They spent almost the entire summer here this year. They only went back to the city two weeks ago."

She turned down a quiet, tree-lined side street. "This is such a nice area of town. Are you escaping the hustle and bustle of city life?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So you're from New York?"

He nodded. "And you? Where are you from?"

"I was born and raised here in Branford, until I turned eighteen. Now I teach school in Buffalo, first and second grade. But I'm back for a little while." She looked at him. "You don't look like a Wall Street type."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'm a working stiff."

"Well, you're not a mechanic or a contractor or your hands would show it. You work indoors a lot, or you'd be more tanned. So what do you do?"

"I'm a police detective."

She glanced at him. Police dealt with violence and death, sometimes on a daily basis. "That suits you?"

"It's all I know." _It's all I have now._

She stopped in front of a charming cottage. "Well, Robert, here we are. Would you like to come in for some tea or something?"

"No, thank you."

"I can take those bags from here. My mother will probably meet me at the door. It was nice to meet you."

She took the bags and he opened the gate for her. "Same here. Take care."

She watched him walk back the way they had come, back toward the Mayfield house. She was intrigued by him. There was an underlying sorrow to his demeanor that made her curious. She would have to run into him again.

* * *

As he walked back toward the house, he took out his phone and called Eames. "Hey there," she said brightly. "How's the beach?"

"What makes you think I've been to the beach?"

"Oh, that's right. You don't like the beach. But you do like to watch the ocean."

"I can do that without going down to the beach."

"I see you're still a grouch."

He sighed heavily. "I'm sorry. I just...I resent this."

"I know you do, but try to make the best of it. Relax. You need this time. Sitting around your apartment wasn't healthy when your mom died and it won't be any healthier now. The change of atmosphere may do you good."

"I'll try it, but I don't like being told what's best for me."

"Give it a chance. I have to go. Call me later."

"Right."

"Bobby?"

"Yes, Eames?"

"I miss you."

He paused before he smiled a small smile and answered, "I miss you, too."

It was progress.

* * *

Back at the Mayfield house, he fixed himself a ham sandwich and poured a tumbler of scotch. He sat on the couch and reached for the remote. There was a note under the remote. _Please feel free to watch whatever you'd like. The passcode for the locked channels is 0411._

0411...her son's birthday. He had reviewed his notes on the case the night before, to refamiliarize himself with Carole Mayfield. He remembered her as an attractive, kind woman, deep in grief after losing her beloved son. She seemed to have gotten past her grief, as much as a mother could, and continued living, even enjoying life. There was hope that the cloud over his own head might someday lift.

He left the television on a Discovery documentary on African wildlife as he ate his sandwich and finished off his drink. He fell asleep on the couch while lions made their kill on television.

In his dream he was running, running hard and fast, trying to get away from some kind of threat. Looking over his shoulder, he saw several lions in hot pursuit. One of them had Nicole Wallace's face, another, Declan's face. Bringing up the rear were his mother and his brother. They were gaining quickly, until the ground began to shake and split. He was thrown to the ground by the quaking, lifting his head in time to watch the lions disappear into the broadening chasm between them. _You're free...

* * *

_

He stared at the top of the bar, trailing his finger through the water rings that marred the woodgrain. His thoughts spun restlessly out of control. His mother (_I never knew..._), his brother (_You don't want to be my brother..._), his father (_Go ahead! You have it in you!_), his mentor (_You're free..._), his savior (_I care about you...because I love you..._).

His memories of Eames gave him the greatest pause. How could she possibly love him, after all he put her through? And how did he feel? He pushed the question away and ordered another drink.

* * *

He stepped out of the bar into the street, stumbling a few steps sideways before he got his bearings. It was night, but the street was well-lit. He started away from the bar. Concentrating on keeping his balance and following the right path to the house, he was surprised to hear his name called out. "Robert?"

He stopped and Ellie caught up to him. "I thought that was you," she said with a smile.

"Hi." He looked around. "Late night walk?"

"I love this town at night." She studied him, taking note of his condition. "Can I walk you home?"

"Home..." he mused. "Home...is in Brooklyn. That's a long walk."

Her eyes danced with amusement. "Point taken. Can I walk you to the Mayfield's, then?"

"That's...out of your way," he protested with a wave of his hand that interfered with his balance.

Shaking his head, he started to move past her, but she reached out and grasped his arm. "Then let me walk with you. And it's not out of my way, remember? I live just up the block."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They walked in silence, and she reached out to steady him whenever he faltered. After a few minutes, he spoke. "Have you ever...lost..._everything_?"

"Everything? No. Not yet."

His mind stumbled over her phrasing as his body stumbled over an uneven patch of sidewalk. She grabbed his arm and steadied him. He frowned. "Not yet?"

She smiled sadly. "Never mind. What did you mean? What have you lost?"

"Me?" He laughed bitterly. "Everything I had to lose. My mother, my brother, my job, my partner. I lost everything. I got her back...and my job, but it cost me."

"Her?"

"Eames. My partner."

She was confused, but any explanation he was likely to offer would only confuse her more. She would have to talk to him again when he was sober if she wanted to understand.

She held his arm as he carefully negotiated the porch steps. It took him a few moments to find the keys and get the door open. Then he stood in the moonlight, awkward. "I...I should walk you home."

Smiling, she patted his arm. "Go inside and go to sleep. I will be fine. Good night, Robert."

"Good night, Ellie."

He stood there, watching, as she walked away. When she was out of sight, he went into the house.

Ellie walked the block and a half to her mother's home, thinking about the big, brooding man. She sensed a great deal of pain in that man. He was suffering. As she entered her mother's garden, she looked up. "Help me reach him," she whispered to the sky. "Please help me."

Once in the house, Bobby made his way to the living room and collapsed in a recliner near the window.

He wondered why Ellie seemed so interested in him but it was a fleeting puzzlement. He leaned the chair back and thoughts of Eames tickled his brain. He'd lost everything, but he did what he had to do in order to get his job back. With the job, came Eames, but she was not one to be possessed by anyone, even if she wasn't aware that he thought of her as his.

He closed his eyes, and he felt the world spin. Controlled spinning. That's where his life was right now, in a controlled spin. The problem was that he had no idea how to pull out of it, how to make the spinning stop and stabilize his world.

When he fell asleep, his mind was filled with images of his life once more spinning out of control...until Eames stepped in to stop it.


	3. All I Have is You

The sun was just too damn bright. He hauled himself off the recliner, his back twisted into more knots than a macramé planter. The headache, however, distracted him from his knotted back, swamping that pain and chasing it into a quiet corner to deal with later. His stomach added to the mix by lurching unpleasantly, unable to decide if it needed emptying or filling. He staggered to the bathroom, taking care not to make a mess. _Not my home,_ he reminded himself. He tried not to recall how much cleaning he'd had to do over the past two years or so after taking his body to extreme limits, seeking some kind of peace. He had finally given in to the fact that he could not drink enough to find dreamless sleep. The monsters were always there, always lurking, ready to ambush him as soon as his guard was down.

_Eames..._ He closed his eyes and pressed his aching head against the cool tile wall. After leaving Frank's body in the care of Rodgers and her people, he left the scene and called Eames. _I need you._ The words slipped past his lips before he could stop them. He was still in shock, stunned by his brother's death. Stunned, but not surprised. Eames spent the rest of the day with him, and it was only because of her that he was able to hold it together. He fell asleep on the couch, his head resting on her thigh. When the nightmares woke him, she was still there, and he found that comforting.

Thoughts of his partner persisted as he showered. Often, the shower was just the place for him to let his thoughts wander freely. Not today, though. Today, he found no pleasure in any part of his body. He toweled off and dressed in a pair of jeans and a black t-shirt. He rubbed his temple as he returned to the too-bright living room. _Time to pull the shades,_ his head demanded.

There were a lot of windows and it took awhile for him to get the room to just the right balance of dim light and dusky shadow. His hangover was just beginning to calm when the doorbell echoed through the room, and then re-echoed endlessly through his head. He swore softly and moved toward the door as quickly as he could, to keep whoever was there from ringing the damn doorbell again. Yanking the door open, he squinted against the sunlight he had just banished from the house.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the brilliance of the day, and he was surprised to see Ellie standing on the porch. She gave him a sympathetic smile and held up a covered bowl. "This is the soup my mother used to give my father when he dragged himself home way too late. It may help you, and it certainly can't hurt."

He raised a hand to make a point, but lowered it without speaking. Silently stepping back from the door, he let her in. She was not surprised to find the shades all drawn. She went into the kitchen and heated the soup as he watched her from the doorway. Moistening his lips, he said, "Why are you here?"

She stirred the soup. "I just want to help."

"And you can't find anyone else in town to help?"

Testing the temperature, she hummed, "Perfect. Sit down."

He hesitated, but she ushered him to the table and set the bowl in front of him with a spoon. "No," she said quietly, hovering at his shoulder once he'd taken a seat. "I couldn't find anyone more in need of help."

She moved away as he stirred the thick soup. "Just what makes you think that I need help?"

She returned from the kitchen and placed a glass of water by his bowl. She sat across from him and said, "I understand people. I can sense when someone is out of sorts with everything around him."

"And you think that's me? Out of sorts with my world?"

"Aren't you?"

He turned his attention to his bowl, and she was pleased when he began to eat, even if he was eating to avoid answering her. _Don't push it, Ellie. Let him come around in his own time. _Her inner voice was rarely wrong.

She pushed her chair back. "I can see you're not in the mood for company today. Would you object to spending a little time with me tomorrow?"

"Ellie..."

"Please, Robert. Otherwise my mother will come with me, and I would prefer spending time with someone my own age."

"You don't know anyone else around here your own age?"

_Don't tell him, not yet. He'll just try to distract you, to help **you**, and you don't need help any more._

"I would like you to come along."

He looked up and studied her face. Finally, he conceded. "All right."

She smiled, reaching out to touch his arm. "Thank you. I'll come by around nine."

She rose and left the house. Once on the porch, she stopped. Despair was one of the most difficult human emotions to overcome, and this man was mired in it. He was hurting deeply, but none of his pain was physical. She sensed that physical pain would be a welcome relief for him, something he knew how to handle. But emotional pain...that was something he was ill-equipped to cope with. She had her work cut out for her, and she knew she could not do it alone. Looking up at the bright blue sky she silently implored, _Please, inspire me_.

* * *

After the sun went down, Goren opened the shades at the back of the house and went out onto the back deck with a beer. He could hear the ocean waves crash on the beach and he relaxed a little. Sitting in a chaise lounge chair, he listened intently to the ocean sounds, and he released the tight control he kept on his mind. He was so tired. His mind and his soul were bruised and battered, struggling to heal.

His thoughts wandered.

Six months of weekly sessions with Elizabeth Olivet had gotten him his job back, but they had done him little good. Olivet tried to discuss his relationship with Eames, but he had been disappointing in that regard. His greatest success was in making Eames a peripheral concern in his therapy sessions as Olivet focused on his anger issues. He could tell she was frustrated by his refusal to discuss his partner, and if she had known how important Eames was to him, she would have pressed the issue, especially if she knew things weren't right between them. But his desire to get back to work, back to _her_, had superseded everything else, and that was what his sessions had focused on. Once he had been reinstated, he terminated the therapy sessions. Olivet would have preferred that he continue coming to see her, and maybe Eames would have, too, but he was not inclined to do that. Always, he preferred to deal with his problems in his own way. He intellectualized his life, and in particular his emotions, because that was the only way he knew to deal with them. He could not cope with emotion on an emotional level, and when the pain got beyond his ability to control, as it was now, he turned to other means, primarily alcohol, to help him deal with it.

He trusted Eames with his life, his physical well being, and he would readily give his life for her. But he trusted no one, not even his partner, with his personal, his emotional, life. He didn't know how to open up and trust another person; that was something he had never learned to do. His mother's illness had taught him to internalize his feelings, to bury them, and he had learned to deal with them intellectually. He was a master at compartmentalization and denial. But things had become too much for him, and his life had fallen apart. He was convinced it was not salvageable, and the one thing he could not make himself do was discuss it with Eames. That, he feared, would be the final straw, the last in a long line of increasingly unforgivable events that would send her out of his life for good. If she really knew how bad he was, she would finally walk away and he was not in a place where he could deal with that.

They had been partners for almost ten years. _Ten years... _that was nearly twenty percent of his life. Only Declan and Lewis, aside from his mother and Frank, had been a consistent, important part of his life longer. But now...now no one was more important to him than she was. If he lost her, he was not sure he could go on, and it was that fear that prevented him from finding what he needed in himself to move forward. He was stuck, floundering in a quagmire of uncertainty, and it seemed the more he fought it, the more firmly entrenched he became.

Of one thing, he was certain, and that was that Eames did not know how important she was to him. He tried hard to focus on the fact that she would be perfectly fine without him. He was the one who would be utterly lost without her, and that gave her the upper hand in their relationship. He was fairly certain she knew she had the upper hand, but he was equally certain she did not know _why_ she had it. Not the real reason, anyway.

The sound of the surf was soothing and, in spite of his turmoil, he fell asleep, his mind filled with images and memories of Eames.

* * *

The rain woke him. It was a moderate summer rain, and he was soaked. He got up from the chair and went into the house, stripping down to his boxers in the laundry room and draping his wet clothes over a drying rack in the corner.

He took a warm shower and dressed in a pair of sweatpants. In the kitchen, he glanced at the time as he pulled a beer from the refrigerator. Almost one a.m. Walking to the nearest window, he looked out from the dark house into the darker night. Rain tapped steadily against the window and ran in rivulets down the glass. Water...life force of the planet. Streams ran into rivers which eventually led to the ocean. Currents flowed and eddied, frothing and swirling as the water made its cyclic journey.

He touched the window with his fingertip. Everything eventually comes full circle, and he wondered just where in the circle his life currently was. The last year of his mother's life had been the worst of his. His life had hit a downward spiral, like water swirling down a drain, and he'd lost his grip on everything. Despair had consumed him and just getting out of bed in the morning took a great deal of effort. The thought of facing another day was overwhelming. Yet through it all, though he had not taken the time to look, Eames had been there, steadfast and certain. She was the beacon that guided him through the storm and saw him safely to the other side, but he'd taken her for granted. More than once she'd borne the brunt of his anger and frustration at the world. And when he lashed out at her, she lashed back, stunning him, forcing him to notice her. Yet, in spite of all he'd put her through, she'd never strayed from his side.

Suddenly overwhelmed, he crossed to the coffee table and grabbed his phone. Without thinking, he called Eames. It wasn't until he heard her sleepy voice that he remembered the time. "I, uh, I woke you. I'm sorry."

"It's all right. What's wrong?"

Her question caught him off guard, and he couldn't verbalize an answer. He wasn't even sure why he called her, beyond the need to hear her voice, a need he couldn't identify and refused to dwell on. Her voice penetrated his thoughts. "Bobby?"

He drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly. "I'm okay, Eames. I just..."

He just what? What possible explanation could he have for calling her in the middle of the night? Silence hung heavy between them until she spoke again. "I'm glad you called."

"Are you? Why?"

"I'm just happy that you called, that's all."

He was the one who called her instead of the other way around, and to her that was significant. He rubbed the back of his neck and began to pace. He still didn't know what to say. She did not allow the silence to linger. "So, how is Connecticut?"

_Lonely,_ he thought. _You aren't here._ Those were thoughts he could not give voice to. "It's nice. Raining."

He could hear the smile in her voice when she said, "You like the rain."

"So do you," he replied.

"Are you resting?"

_Not very well._ "Some, I suppose."

"I know it's not easy for you to unwind, but try."

His restlessness increased. "What have you been doing?"

"Wheeler and I have a case."

"Tell me about it."

"Bobby, you are supposed to be taking a break."

"I don't need a break from work, Eames." _I don't need a break from you. It's life that has beaten me down._ "My personal life is what fell apart, and now...well, there really aren't any pieces left to pick up and put back together. I have a clean slate and nothing to put on it."

"Something will turn up."

"Right now, all I have is you."

As soon as the words were out, he regretted saying them. He wasn't sure how they escaped, but they were out there now and he couldn't take them back. He panicked. "I, uh, I'm sorry...I shouldn't have called." His pulse was racing. "Good night, Eames."

He ended the call and dropped the phone as if it had suddenly become a hot coal in his hand. He sat heavily in the recliner and buried his head in his arms. He'd spoken the truth to her. There was no one else. Except for Eames, he was alone in the world, and he felt that emptiness like a weight across his shoulders. _All I have is you..._


	4. A Question of Faith

The doorbell woke Goren from a restless sleep. He rolled off the couch and ran a hand through his hair as he answered the door. Ellie studied him. "Did I say ten? I thought I said nine, but my memory isn't what it once was."

He shook his head. "No, no, you said nine. I just overslept. Come on in while I get ready."

Grabbing his bag, he disappeared into the bathroom, where he ran a comb through his hair, brushed his teeth and changed into a pair of clean jeans and a dark blue NYPD t-shirt. Back in the living room, he stepped into his sneakers and tied them. "Ready?"

"No breakfast?"

"I don't usually eat breakfast."

"Suppose we stop for coffee?"

He nodded. "That sounds like a plan. Where are we going?"

"To Lake Giallard. I go up there every weekend. It's peaceful."

He locked the door and followed her to her car. "If you go away for peace and quiet, why do you want me with you?"

She started the car and pulled away from the curb. "I get the feeling you could use some peace and quiet, too. Since I need to have someone with me when I leave town, I thought we could both benefit from a day at the lake."

"Why do you need someone with you?"

She shook her head. "That's not important right now. Just try to relax and enjoy the day. I brought lunch along, and we can go out to the island to eat."

"Out to the island?"

"The island in the middle of the lake." She smiled when he arched an eyebrow at her. "Don't worry. I have access to a boat. Can you row?"

His mouth twitched but a smile didn't form. His tone, however, was light. "I can row."

"And since you can walk, I assume you can hike."

An expression akin to amusement settled across his features. "Yes. I can hike. And I swim, too, but not in jeans."

"Do you like the outdoors?"

"Yes."

She pulled into a small parking lot outside a local deli and they got coffee. She also got a buttered roll for each of them. After turning out of the parking lot, she asked, "Did your parents ever take you camping when you were a kid?"

"Uh, no. There was never...time for that."

"You have to make time for what is important."

"They did." He was just never included on the 'important' list.

She sensed the darkening of his mood. Perhaps his childhood had not been a happy one like hers. She let the subject drop. "So do you do much camping or hiking now?"

"No. Work takes up most of my time."

"Robert..."

He waved his hand. "Please don't tell me I shouldn't work so hard. It's all I really have that gives my life any meaning." He shifted in his seat, restless. "And, uh, you can call me Bobby."

She smiled. "Bobby. All right. And you can tell me about work, if that's what makes you happy."

_Happy_. He wasn't sure what that meant. Not really. There had been times in his life when he was content, but in his memory, the closest he'd ever been to being happy was when Eames returned from maternity leave. God, that was four years ago. He turned away from his thoughts, which were certain to turn to darker times if he didn't change the subject. "Didn't you tell me that you're a teacher?"

"Yes. First and second grade."

"In Buffalo?"

"Just outside Buffalo, yes. A small Catholic school called Our Lady of Mercy."

"When are you supposed to go back?"

She smiled. "Trying to get rid of me already?"

"No. Just curious. It's what I do."

"You question everything."

She said it as a statement of fact and hit the nail squarely on the head. "Yes, I do."

"So, what about faith? Where does faith fit in to the scheme of your life?"

He frowned darkly. "Faith? Just what is faith, Ellie? Faith has done nothing for me. I lost it a long time ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. I never saw it as a major loss. My life was no better with it and no worse without it."

She didn't reply immediately, and he didn't see any reason to break the silence. He preferred silence, unless he was working a case. When there was silence, there was no pressure on him. He didn't have to guard his words, although he hadn't been doing such a good job of that lately, not with Eames. He didn't want to admit that his partner had found a chink in his armor. He had no idea what would happen if she broke through his barriers into the unprotected core of who he was. And the idea of it terrified him.

Ellie's voice broke into his thoughts. "What happened to cost you your faith, Bobby?"

"Life," he answered. "Life happened." But he did not offer details and, to his relief, Ellie didn't immediately seek any. But something told him they were going to revisit that topic in the near future.

* * *

It didn't take long to get to the lake. After parking the car, Ellie opened the trunk and closed her hand over the straps of a green backpack. Bobby's larger hand closed over hers and she slid her hand away, allowing him to take the backpack, which he swung easily to his back and slipped on.

With a smile, she started away from the car. "This way," she said brightly.

He watched her for a moment before his face relaxed into a soft smile and he followed her.

It didn't take long for Bobby to realize that Ellie's personality was strongly the opposite of his own. She was bright and cheerful with an optimism that was almost contagious. She enjoyed talking, but she wasn't the type who chattered on about nothing just to hear her own voice. She talked about the history of the area and the highlights of the lake itself. She pointed out every animal and bird that crossed their paths. She missed nothing.

He was fascinated by her knowledge and her energy. She seemed to sense the presence of life around her and he found that intriguing. This woman was a rare soul and she seemed to draw him into the halo of life that surrounded her. As the morning progressed, he felt more relaxed than he could remember feeling in a long time.

They walked part of the way around the lake, stopping often. Ellie was someone who understood the meaning behind the cliché _Stop and smell the roses._ No opportunity to see a flower or an animal was wasted.

She led him to a small dock. Two rowboats were tied to it, and an envelope was taped to a seat in one boat. When she faltered as she started to step into the boat, he grabbed her arm to steady her and helped her down into the hold of the boat. As she opened the envelope, he dropped the backpack into the boat and stepped down into it. Ellie held up the letter. "My friend Andy owns this boat. We've been friends since we were four. He said to have fun."

After reaching out to untie the line, Bobby settled the oars in the oarlocks and pushed away from the dock. Ellie wrapped her arms around her legs and turned her face toward the sky, eyes closed. He watched her as he rowed toward the island and wondered what she was thinking. His attention shifted to her pale skin from her throat, down to the neckline of her shirt, across to her shoulders. She was much paler than Eames, not nearly as muscular. Tanned and toned, Eames had beautiful skin. It was something he noticed every day, something burned into his memory. By day, he watched her, silently appreciating every move she made. By night, he had her in his dreams, closer than she would ever be in the reality of daylight.

"Bobby?"

Snapping himself from his thoughts, he focused again on Ellie. He'd stopped rowing and she watched him with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "Sorry," he muttered, resuming their journey to the island.

"What were you thinking about?" Ellie asked. "You were very far away."

Often, he relished the fact that most people ignored him. He never had to explain where his mind went. Only Eames ever cared enough to ask, to seek him when he went away. This was unusual for him. "I, uh, I was just thinking about someone. Sorry."

"Never apologize for thinking about someone you love."

He stared at her, again pausing in his rowing. _Love?_ "I-It's not what you think. I mean, I..." He trailed off, frowning.

"It's not what I think," she repeated back to him. "What isn't what I think?"

He wasn't used to being challenged; his mind tripped a few times and his tongue stalled. Without replying, he gripped the oars tightly and continued to row with strong, angry strokes.

Ellie watched the anger and embarrassment rise in him. _We hit some kind of chord in him. Perhaps love is part of his problem._ She glanced toward the deep blue sky and implored, _Guide me, please._

Her inner self felt it was all right to push a little. After all, how far could he go in a rowboat? "Who is she?"

"S-She?"

Ellie smiled, a knowing smile. "Yes. She. As in the woman responsible for that tender look on your face. The one who leads your mind off on tangents that seem to relax you and make you tense at the same time."

This woman was too perceptive. He wasn't inclined to admit anything, so he slyly shifted tactics. "Suppose it's you?"

She laughed, a light, musical sound of genuine mirth. "That's ridiculous."

He set the oars in the boat, casting them adrift, at the mercy of the lake currents and eddies. "Why?" he challenged. "Because we just met?"

"No. Because it's impossible."

He frowned. "Impossible to love you?"

"In the way you mean, yes."

"Why?"

She was encouraged by the genuine curiosity and interest on his face as he leaned forward. She leaned in closer as well. "Because I am not at liberty to be in love, and even if I was, now is the worst possible time for it to happen. And besides, your heart belongs to someone else."

"No, it doesn't," he denied.

She continued to study his face. "Love is the most powerful of all emotions. It is wondrous and frightening, but once you accept it and give yourself over to it, it is sustaining and comforting. Everyone should feel loved by someone. But you...you are afraid to love."

"I...I don't know how to let anyone be that close," he said before he could stop himself.

She didn't believe that, but she was convinced that he did. "What about her?" she pressed.

"She..." Eames' words once more brushed gently past his ear on the breeze: _I care about you, because I love you. I love you._ He looked down into the boat. "She deserves better."

Ellie needed no sixth sense to feel his despair. "Why would you say that?"

His head snapped up and his eyes blazed. "Because it's the truth."

_Baby steps,_ her inner voice cautioned. _Don't push too hard just yet._ "In whose eyes?" she asked softly.

He chewed his lower lip and answered, "She lost the love of her life more than ten years ago in a line-of-duty shooting. She's not interested in finding another one. Love," he said the word with bitterness. "Love has never been part of my destiny."

"So change your destiny."

He began to laugh and set the oars back in the water. "Right. Destiny is immutable."

She snorted. "I don't believe that."

"So why isn't it in your future to find love?"

"That's not destiny. I made that choice a long time ago and I'm not inclined to change it. It was the right choice for me. But it doesn't sound like it's been a choice for you, at least not completely. Would you really chase it away if love came knocking on your heart?"

He didn't answer, relieved when he had to maneuver into the island dock. Would he chase it away? Not necessarily. But would love really come knocking on a heart that bore a 'no vacancy' sign? Did he have it in him to let anyone in?

He tossed the line up onto the dock and climbed out of the boat, tying it securely to the dock. Ellie handed the back pack up to him. He set it on the dock and reached a hand down to help her out of the boat. As she stood up on the dock, a wave of nausea and dizziness overcame her and she began to topple backwards. He grabbed her and pulled her toward him. Her body fell into his and he held her as she recovered, eyes closed. Her hands fisted into his shirt and she didn't move.

Silently, he stroked her auburn hair. "Ellie?" he finally whispered.

Her hands relaxed and she released his shirt, stepping away from him at the same time. "Forgive me," she said. "That happens at the most inconvenient times."

"It's happened before?"

She looked across the lake silently before reaching out to lay a hand on his chest. She was quiet for another moment. "Never mind. It's passed. I just need something to eat."

He leaned over to catch her eyes, which she let him do. She was struck by the intensity and concern in the deep brown of his eyes. "Really. I'm fine."

She stepped away from him and walked down the short dock. He grabbed the pack and followed her. "Ellie, please. Talk to me. Something is wrong with you. You've left your teaching job. You can't come out here alone. You refuse to consider love..."

She raised a hand, objecting. "No, that has nothing to do with my health. That was a lifestyle choice for me. The love you mean has never been part of my life, never will be."

He would not allow her to change topics. "Have you always been so pale?"

She laughed lightly. "I'm Scottish and Irish, Bobby. Of course I've always been pale."

He was not amused. "Ellie..."

She stopped and turned to face him. "Let it go, please."

It was not in his nature to let anything go, but he felt compelled to let her have her way...just the way he did with Eames. He looked away, conceding to her, at least for the moment. He planned to revisit the subject soon. "Thank you," she said quietly, turning to continue down the path.

He hesitated for a moment before following her. When he caught up to her, he unconsciously adjusted his stride to accommodate her much smaller one. It was second nature to him. The women most important to him were small women. Now that his mother was gone, there was only Eames.

"What's her name?" Ellie asked, out of the blue.

"Who?" he answered.

"The woman you claim not to love."

"I never said I didn't love her," he protested.

"Well, she does have a name, doesn't she?"

With a sigh, he nodded. "Eames...uhm, Alex. Her name is Alex."

"And how do you know her?"

"She's my partner."

"Oh...that must make things uncomfortable."

"Not at all. I am comfortable with her. We've been partners for a long time."

"Does she know how you feel?"

He laughed, a bitter sound. "No. She doesn't."

"Why not?"

"Because I've chosen not to tell her. She doesn't need to know. Some things are best left alone." He stared at the ground as he walked beside her. "I am lucky she tolerates me the way she does. I won't push it by asking for more."

"I think you underestimate yourself. Bobby, you are worth loving, if you just let yourself be loved."

"I told you before, she isn't looking for anything I might have to offer, _if_ I had anything to offer."

"You cannot speak for her," she said gently. "You have to step forward and take the risk."

He couldn't stop the panic that tightened his gut, and his reply was adamant. "No. It's not worth it. I can't take that risk. Ellie, you don't understand. If I lose her...I lose everything. My life..." He paused to take several deep breaths and calm himself. When he felt composed, in control, he continued, "My life can't take another loss. She...she is all I have left."

She was genuinely curious and she felt they were making progress. "What have you lost?"

"Everything. My mother, my brother, my job...I lost everything I had that meant anything to me." He paused, then added, "I got my job back, but...it cost me. Things weren't the same. Everything became... difficult."

"What happened with your mother and your brother?"

Vaguely, he murmured, "They died, a year apart from one another. She had cancer; he was a junkie. But they were the only family I had."

She didn't miss his tension or his reluctance to talk, and she decided not to push it. Her sixth sense told her it wouldn't be worth it. Not yet. She touched his hand and pointed. "Over here. This is the best place on the island to enjoy lunch."

He helped her spread a tablecloth on the ground in the shade of a large Japanese Maple tree. As she settled on the ground beside the backpack, he did not miss a grimace that she tried to hide. He dropped down beside her. "Ellie, what can I do to help you?"

"You can do exactly what you have been doing. Don't treat me like my mother does. I am not a fragile flower."

He stretched out onto his side, propped on his elbow. "Okay, so maybe you aren't fragile, but any beautiful flower should be cherished."

She graced him with a warm smile. "Thank you, Bobby, but believe me, I lack for nothing. My life is very fulfilling. I want for nothing, except time."

"Time?"

She handed him a sandwich. "Realistically, does anyone ever believe they have enough time?"

Once again, she was sidestepping the real subject. He watched her nestle against the tree, and he was amazed by her. This was a woman who was full of love for all life on the planet.

He moved closer to her. "Who are you?"

She studied his face intently, not misunderstanding his question. "Believe me, I am nobody important, but to each person who knows me, I am what I need to be. I'm a daughter. I'm a teacher. I'm a friend in need."

He cocked his head to one side. "Why would a woman like you reject love?"

"Reject it? Bobby, I have embraced it."

His brow furrowed. "But you said..."

She smiled again. He was interested and animated. This, she imagined, was the Bobby that his Alex saw most frequently, a man on the hunt, in search of the answers to a puzzle he knows he can solve. "I said, I will never know the kind of love you refer to, physical love between a man and a woman. But that's only the surface of the barrel. Love is an amazing thing, if you open yourself to it, which you seem to have a lot of trouble doing."

"What do you know about it?" he challenged.

"I know all about love at its purest, love for life in all its forms." She touched a root beside her and caressed it. His eyes followed her hand as it left the root and made a sweeping motion toward the world around them. "There is love all around if you look for it."

"Suppose I don't want to find it."

"I don't believe that for a second. I sense a lot of passion in you, and a lot of love. But it's trapped with no way out until you release it."

He looked down at the grass, finding a beetle and watching its progress along the ground. Ellie moved to his side, looking down at the beetle as it scurried along. Kneeling beside him, she quietly said, "I made a promise, to God, when I was 22 years old. I promised to be faithful, to love and cherish Him and to do His work, until the day I die. I am not free to make the same commitment to a man. I have a greater purpose to fulfill."

He looked at her and arched an eyebrow. "A greater purpose than love?"

She laughed. "You are very good. You manipulate words to get people to say what you want them to say. My greater purpose _is_ love, love for all mankind, not just a select few."

"I made a promise, too, seventeen years ago...a promise to serve and protect, at the cost of my own life, if necessary. But you...your promise was to serve and to _love,_ to give your life _to_ others."

Her face remained bright. "You will give your life for another. I will give my life for God."

His mind hummed, processing her words, reading into them the meanings she wanted to convey and pulling out what she hadn't yet told him. "Your students...they call you Sister, don't they?"

"Yes, they do. But here at home, I'm just Ellie."

"You left your order?"

"No. I'm considered on sabbatical. What happens next, and when it happens, is up to God."

A silence fell between them as he considered her words, once more searching for the meaning she left hidden in them. She leaned over to look into his face, which was cast toward the ground. "Tell me what happened that cost you your faith, Bobby."

He shifted uncomfortably. He hated being involved in any conversation that probed beneath the surface of who he was. He didn't like for anyone to try to penetrate his outer walls. His answer to her was vague. "When I was a kid, I had the faith of a child. I believed there was a much greater entity than myself because everyone around me was a greater entity than me. It was easy to believe."

"And then?"

"And then my life came crashing down around me."

She realized that he wasn't inclined to give her, or anyone else, details of his life. So she offered a suggestion that was just as vague and yet, not vague at all. "You turned from God. But consider this: when the carpet got pulled from beneath you, you survived because He was still there with you."

"I survived," he corrected. "Because there were no other options open to me. I had no alternative. Sometimes, the best we can do is survive, and that's what I have done. For whatever it's worth I have survived, and that just sets me up for more of whatever life has to dish out. God has nothing to do with my life or how it turned out."

"I have to disagree with you there."

His voice turned bitter. "Of course you do. That's part of your job. I've read the Bible. I know all the stock answers. You have nothing new to offer me, Sister."

She felt the rise of his anger and bitterness toward a universe that had not treated him kindly. "Are you sure about that, detective?"

He lurched to his feet and walked away, but Ellie was not inclined to let him retreat. She followed him. "How old were you when you came to think God left you?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against a tree, looking out across the lake. He shrugged a shoulder. "It didn't happen all at once. I was an altar boy until I was twelve. It hurt my mother when I stopped going to church, but I couldn't put on airs like my brother did. He kept going to make her happy but there was no sincerity in what he did. I couldn't keep lying to myself or to her. So I stopped going."

"Did your father have anything to say about it?"

"I never knew my father, but the man who raised me didn't care about anything that didn't directly impact him. He certainly didn't care about me or what I did unless it upset my mother too much."

She leaned her back against a nearby tree. "He cared about your mother..."

He waved his hand, shaking his head. "Don't misunderstand me. He left when I was 11 because my mother was sick and he couldn't take it any more. If I got her upset and she had to go into the hospital, then he was stuck dealing with me, and that was a major inconvenience to him. He was nobody's hero, least of all mine."

"Was it the same cancer that killed her?"

"What? Her illness? No. My mother was schizophrenic. She developed symptoms when I was seven, and for years she was non-compliant with medications, until I finally had to hospitalize her." He tossed his hands in the air. "So there you have it, Ellie. That's why I lost my faith. All I ever wanted was for my mother to be well, but that was too much to ask, so I stopped asking for anything at all. If God couldn't bother with me, I had no reason to bother with Him."

He walked down to the water's edge, and again she followed him. Anger got him talking, and she didn't want to lose the edge she had with him. "You resent the trials of your life," she said without malice. It was a gentle accusation with the ring of truth to it.

"I don't know," he answered. "The trials of my life brought me to where I am. I really don't know if it's where I want to be or not, but it's what I have. Resentment doesn't do me any good."

She grabbed his arm and he spun toward her, his face dark and stormy. But, like Eames, she stood her ground, not allowing him to intimidate her. "You don't want to be alone."

Her voice carried the conviction of knowing she was right. He didn't pull away from her, but the anger slipped from his face and some of the fight went out of him. She saw the slight relaxation in his shoulders, and she pressed on. "Talk to her," she urged. "Tell her how you feel. The worst thing you could do is let her go."

"Let her go..." he huffed in frustration. "I have no right to keep her."

"Let her make that decision."

"And when she decides to walk away? When she realizes I'm too much trouble and not worth the effort she has made to get close to me?"

Ellie raised a finger, triumph in her eyes. "She _has_ made an effort to get close, but you have pushed her away. Stop pushing, Bobby. Let her have her way this time. Let her get close."

He stared at her for a moment. "Touche, Sister," he finally said, still bitter. "But words are easily spoken, much more easily than the actions they suggest. Come on. I'll take you home."

"How can you be so stubborn?" she blurted out, exasperated.

"You're a fine one to talk. It's my life; I'll manage it."

"Well, since you've done such a bang-up job to this point, I can see why you don't want any help."

His temper flared again. "I _don't_ want any help. I never asked for any help. I didn't welcome your prying. Now back off!"

"You just want to be miserable and alone," she snapped back.

"Maybe I do."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're a poor liar."

"Not really. Look, Ellie, I have pushed Alex away enough that she no longer looks for a way to get in. She knows I don't have anything to offer her so she has stopped pretending that I do."

"You are a smart man, but you're a stupid one, too."

He dropped to the grass beside the tablecloth and stretched out on his back. He was done discussing the remnants of his life and he refused to accept her solution for pulling it back together. Eames was not the answer to his problems and neither was Gage. There was no answer to them, and he'd come to accept that. His life was what it was, and he wasn't looking to change it. Change only made things worse. He was the son of a schizophrenic and a serial killer. He had nothing to offer any woman, and Eames had seen him at his worst. There was no hope for anything outside their work relationship, for those reasons and a hundred others, although Ellie couldn't know any of that. Right now, his life was as good as it was going to get.

Ellie sat down on the cloth, crossed her legs and watched him. He had shut down completely on her. Stubbornly, she continued to reach out to him. "Too bad I'm not the interfering type, or I'd talk to her myself."

His eyes shifted toward her. "Why would you do that?"

"You mean aside from the fact that I think she needs to know?"

He looked away again. "She knows," he said finally. "And it's not something she has ever chosen to pursue."

"Because you have never invited her in. You said she's tried to get close to you. What more do you expect from her?"

"I don't know how to let her in!" He closed his eyes, angry with himself for losing his temper again. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled."

He opened his eyes, startled, when she touched him. Resting the flat of her palm on his chest, she said, "It's not as difficult as you think. All you have to do is try. She'll do the rest, as long as you are willing."

"You intentionally brought me out here because you knew I couldn't run away."

She smiled. "No, I really do come out here every week. Keeping you from taking off was just a fringe benefit."

He laughed, the first genuine laugh she'd heard from him. "You're a piece of work, do you know that?" he asked lightly.

"I've been told that more than once, yes. Father Charles says I'm like the sun—a ray of light that can't be extinguished."

He nodded. "I can see why he says that."

"Will you talk to her?"

He sighed. God, she was persistent. "Maybe. I'll think about it. But I don't believe in miracles."

"You don't have to believe. I have enough faith for us both."

"I honestly believe that you do," he answered, reaching out to grasp her hand and give it a squeeze. She smiled, and he saw the sun in her face. Father Charles was right.


	5. A Disturbing Revelation

Bobby remained on his back, looking up at white clouds floating lazily in a blue ocean of air. Ellie sat beside him, watching the trees around them and enjoying the breeze that rustled the late-summer foliage. The silence between them was companionable and they both relaxed.

He noticed the darkening of the clouds at about the same time that she felt the change in the breeze. "We'd better head in to shore," she said, wondering how quickly the storm would blow in.

With a nod of agreement, he got up and helped her gather everything together. They made it to the rowboat and cast off from the dock as the water began to get choppy. The wind picked up and Bobby rowed harder. This was a fast-moving storm. The rain began before the thunder and lightning moved in, and they barely made it to shore as the full fury of the storm broke over them.

By the time they got to the car, they were both soaked. She sat behind the steering wheel with the keys in her hand, and she began to laugh. He laughed with her as the storm worsened outside the car. She started the car and pulled away from the lake.

* * *

When they got back to Stony Creek, she turned toward the Mayfield place, but he insisted she drive directly home. "But you..."

"Don't worry about me, Ellie. A little walk won't hurt me one bit."

"But the rain..."

"I won't melt either. I'm not intimidated by a late summer storm."

"Is there anything that intimidates you?"

"Yes," he answered without thinking.

When he paused, she knew he regretted his reply. "She does, doesn't she?"

"Sometimes. When she's angry, or when she's sad. I never know what to do when she's out of sorts, so yes, she does intimidate me." He paused. "It's laughable, really."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"She's half my size, but she has twice the attitude. Sometimes, I think my life would be easier if she wasn't so important to me. And then...then I think that I don't want my life to be any easier if it means she couldn't be a part of it."

"You need to tell _her_ that, Bobby."

When he tried to process words he could use to explain that to Eames, his mind drew a blank. He sighed, half-frustrated and half-sad. "I wish I knew how," he said, mostly to himself.

She pulled into the small driveway beside her mother's house and turned to face him. "Look inside yourself. The way is there."

He looked away, and she let him withdraw. He put out his hand for the keys, which she handed to him. She hurried to the porch to wait for him as he got the backpack from the trunk. He brought it to her but he didn't go any further than the steps. She reached out and grasped his hand, gently pulling. "Come on in."

He started to shake his head, but she refused to take no for an answer. She gripped his hand more firmly and tugged. "Come on."

He conceded reluctantly and let her lead him into the house. She led him into the parlor and motioned for him to sit down, but he refused. He was soaked and he didn't want to get the furniture wet. She smiled at him, but before either of them could speak, Ellie's mother came into the room. She scowled at Goren, then turned to Ellie. Her scowl turned to concern. "Ellie Stuart! Just look at you, soaked to the bone! You're going to catch a cold, you are! Now come along. Get out of those wet things and I'll draw you a hot bath." She cast another disapproving glare toward Goren. "Your friend can see himself out."

"Mother..."

"Not another word. Come along now."

Ellie gave Goren an apologetic look as her mother ushered her from the room. As he walked toward the door, he wondered if an overprotective parent was any better than an abusive, neglectful or apathetic one, but he had no experience with overprotectiveness. His mother had been overbearing and demanding, but never protective, not of him.

He stepped out onto the front porch and watched the rain, still pouring from the sky. He stepped off the porch into the rain, crossed the garden and walked through the gate. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turned toward the Mayfield's and walked home.

* * *

Twilight settled on the ocean as the rain came to a stop. Dressed in black sweats and barefoot, Goren went out onto the back deck with a beer, watching the crashing surf, still roiling with the residual energy of the passed storm. Now convinced that something serious was wrong with Ellie, he was trying to figure out what it was. Her health was fragile, though it did not seem so from talking to her or watching her, except for little cues she hid very well from most eyes. But his eyes and his mind missed very little. He caught the cues. He saw the fleeting weakness, her pale skin, the sheen of sweat that sometimes coated her face in the absence of heat or exertion. He heard her words and his mind sought deeper meaning. Something was very wrong with her, but he couldn't figure out just what. He made up his mind, finally, to confront her. It was the only way he would get the answers he sought.

* * *

Goren woke early the next morning. After a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, he walked down the street to Ellie's house. Her mother was in the garden as he approached. "Good morning, Mrs. Stuart."

Mary Stuart looked up from her peonies and glared at him. "What do you want with my daughter, sir?"

He was surprised by the vehemence in her voice. "Nothing. Ellie and I are just friends."

Her face did not soften. "Are you aware that Ellie is a nun?"

"Yes, I am."

"And that means nothing to you?"

He frowned. ""What are you insinuating, Mrs. Stuart?"

Neither of them noticed that Ellie had come out onto the porch. "Yes, Mother. What are you insinuating?"

Mary turned toward her daughter. "Ellie, what are you doing out here? You should be in bed."

"Nonsense. I'm not ready to take to my bed yet."

She stepped from the porch and approached her mother, kissing her cheek. Then she continued out of the garden and grabbed Goren's arm. "Come for a walk with me, Bobby. Don't worry about me, Mom. He's a police officer. I'll see you later."

She led Goren away from the house before her mother could object further. "Forgive my mother," she said as they walked down the block. "She thinks she's doing what's best for me, and she doesn't realize she's smothering me."

"She cares. You can't blame her for worrying."

"Oh? What makes you say that?"

"I can see her concern, Ellie. Is it warranted?"

She walked beside him in silence until he stopped and dipped at the waist to look at her face. "Is it?" he insisted.

She looked into dark eyes that reflected only concern. "Does it matter?" she asked.

"I wouldn't ask if it didn't."

"Nothing will change if I answer you."

"Why does anything have to change? Ellie, I know that something is wrong. Please, trust me enough to confide in me."

She smiled, a kind, gentle smile that brought the sun back to her face. "Trust has nothing to do with it, but I will make a deal with you. If you promise to talk to Alex about how you feel, I will tell you about my health."

His expression changed and he straightened away from her. "Ellie, that's not fair."

"Sure it is."

They continued walking, but she didn't press it, and neither did he. He wasn't sure he was willing, or able, to talk to Eames about his feelings. He couldn't jeopardize what they had for something that was so uncertain. He could not risk losing her.

Ellie could not understand why he was so stubborn about talking to the woman he loved about his feelings. She did not imagine any bad could come of it. He was such a kind, gentle man, so easy to love. Her sixth sense told her to let it go for now, so she did.

When they returned to her house, Goren walked her to the porch, but refused to let her coerce him into the house. "Your mother doesn't like me much. I'll just be going. Maybe I'll see you tomorrow."

"Count on it."

He waited until she was in the house before he turned to leave. "Officer," a voice called to him from the other side of the garden.

He turned as Mary walked toward him. "Yes, Mrs. Stuart?"

She carried a basket of freshly cut flowers, which she set on the porch. "Did my daughter discuss her health with you?"

"No. That's a topic she steadfastly avoids. But I can tell she's not well."

Mary seemed to struggle with herself. "No, she's not." She had a pleasant Irish brogue and a sweet, soft voice when she wasn't chastising Ellie for being out in the rain. Her graying red hair was gathered into a bun at the back of her head and her full figure added a softness to her that he had not noticed the night before when she was in a dither. She sighed. "She's not well at all."

"What's wrong with her?"

"The doctors aren't sure what to call it, but they tell us it's a rare condition that tends to progress rapidly. My poor, poor lass...she's my only child and she's all I have. No mother should ever have to bury her child."

"How rapidly do they expect it to progress?"

"When she came home two months ago, they gave her weeks. At her last doctor's visit Friday, they said she has days. When she takes to her bed, it will be hours."

He was stunned. He had not expected that. "She...She doesn't seem frail."

"She's never been frail, and she fights to hide her illness from everyone, even me. She's a brave soul."

He nodded slowly. "I believe that." In the face of her own mortality, Ellie argued with him about his relationship with Eames, about changing his own life for the better. "Thank you, Mrs. Stuart."

He hadn't expected to learn of her illness from another source, nor did he expect such a dire prognosis. His head was spinning and he had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. _Days...only days...

* * *

_

He entered the house and paced restlessly. _Days... _Instinctively, he pulled out his phone. By the time he consciously realized what he was doing, Eames had answered the phone. "How's it going up there?"

"Eames..." He was still reeling from his conversation with Mrs. Stuart, and he had no idea how to put his feelings into words. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling.

"Bobby? What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall. "I...I think I'm in trouble."

"Why? What happened?"

The concern in her voice encouraged him. "I...I'm not sure...I'm not sure I can handle this, Eames."

"Handle what?"

He stopped just short of admitting that he needed her. Slowly, he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. "I..." He drew in a deep breath. What was he doing? Hadn't he burdened Eames enough? "I'm sorry, Eames. I shouldn't have called. I'll be fine."

"Don't pull that shit on me, Goren. Talk to me."

"It would take too long to explain, and I'm tired." _There's a six-pack in the fridge with my name on it._ "It's been a long day and I got some...bad news about a-a friend."

"Lewis?"

"No. Someone up here."

"Tell me."

He groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. "It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. You use your words. You do it all the time. Just direct them toward me for a change."

"I wish it were that easy."

"It is. Talk to me, Bobby. Who is your friend?"

"A local resident. Eames...I need..." 'You...' He had almost said 'you.' _I need you._ "I need to go. I'll talk to you soon."

He closed the phone before he said something he felt he would regret. He had no idea that he already had.


	6. Fading Light

Goren woke on the back deck, in the chaise lounge. There were four empty beer bottles under the chair. He got to his feet, gathered the bottles and tossed them into the recycling bin in the kitchen. He set the coffee to brewing and took a shower. He was exhausted, emotionally spent. _Days, soon to be hours._ His stomach tightened at the memory of his talk with Mary Stuart. Ellie was dying, quickly. He was still stunned by the news.

He spent the day wandering up and down the beach, seeking to make sense of this turn of events, but no matter how hard he thought, or how much he tried to force it, none of it ended up making any sense at all.

It was late afternoon by the time he made his way back to the house. As he rummaged around in the kitchen, a knock at the front door interrupted him, and he went to answer it. There was only one person it could be, and yet, he was almost surprised to find Ellie at the door. "Ellie...uh, come on in."

"You look tired."

"I had a bad day."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

He shrugged. "There are lots of demons in my head."

"Have you thought about faith as a cure for your demons?"

He shook his head. "Faith isn't going to change the past or make the future any more certain. I deal with things as best I can."

"Why are you so resistant to any kind of help?"

"Why won't you tell me what's wrong with you?"

She sat on the couch and rubbed her hands along her thighs, as if trying to warm herself. "No one really knows what's wrong with me. All they know for sure is that it's rapidly progressive, incurable and terminal."

"There's no hope?"

She watched him sit in the recliner by the coffee table. "There's always hope when there is faith, Bobby," she answered with her bright smile. "My fate is in God's hands, and I will go to Him when He calls me, whether that's tomorrow, or next week, or next year."

"It won't be next year, or even next month, will it?"

"Not likely, no."

"So what good is faith?"

Her tone was patient, infinitely patient. "Bobby, dear, faith does not involve getting what you want. Faith is knowing that God has a plan and trusting in Him and what He has planned for you. We each have a purpose in life, and when we have fulfilled that purpose, it's time to go Home."

"So you've fulfilled your purpose?"

"I suppose so. Having a divine purpose doesn't necessarily mean we know what it is. I trust that God will call me Home when I've completed His plan for me."

He got up from the chair and went into the kitchen, returning with two cups of coffee. He handed one to Ellie. She touched his hand as she said, "Thank you."

He was surprised by the contact and he slowly lowered himself to the couch beside her. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Life hasn't been good to me," he said quietly.

"Tell me about it."

Overcoming his natural reluctance, he spoke slowly. "In 1960, my mother had an affair with a man who was a serial killer and rapist. He...fathered me, and when I was four, he raped her. Her bruises healed, but my brother said she was never the same after that. She developed schizophrenia when I was seven. The man who raised me, who I always thought was my father, had little use for me, especially as I got older. So I didn't have a very good childhood, to say the least. Abuse and neglect...just say I understand what it's like. I got into trouble as a teenager, and I caused my mother quite a bit of grief. I was headed down a dark path, until I joined the Army...until I met Declan Gage. He was a brilliant profiler, and he took me under his wing. He was the father I never had. He set me on the right path, as a man and as a police investigator, a profiler. So I have been a cop for more than half my life. My brother went down a different path. He became a junkie and remained one for thirty years. He came around when he needed something—a gambling debt paid, some kind of favor. So I distanced myself from him. I buried him the morning I came up here. Declan orchestrated his death because he thought Frank was dragging me down. He...He's lost his mind. So now, I'm alone in the world, except for Eames. I told you, I've survived my life, and that's the best I can say about it. I don't see how faith would have made any difference at all."

"It wouldn't have, to the circumstances of your life. Where faith comes in..." She reached toward him and rested her hand on his chest. "...is here. That's where the difference is."

"I don't readily hold grudges, Ellie, but this is one I can't let go of."

She moved her hand from his chest to his cheek. "When you are ready," she said in an earnest whisper. "He will be waiting, ready to forgive and to be forgiven."

"To be forgiven?"

"Of course. You are angry with Him. God is infallible, but men are not. You have not forgiven Him for your mother's illness, for the trials of your life, but someday you may, and He will be waiting for you."

When he leaned away, she withdrew her hand and settled against the back of the couch. She wished she could give him faith, but it wasn't that easy. He had to find his own way back to God. In a way, she wished she could help him with his journey, but God had other plans for her. Soon, He would call her Home.

"There is something else you have to do, to set right. You have to talk to your Alex."

_His_ Alex. His eyes slid closed again. Was it possible? Was _he_ worthy of _her_ love? When he put it that way, he could find no reason to say yes. He was still full of doubts and uncertainties, still unwilling to risk losing the one person he could not afford to lose. Ellie saw the doubt on his face when he opened his eyes. "Nothing ventured, nothing gained," she said.

Her heart lurched at the look of sorrow on his face. "Nothing ventured, nothing _lost_," he corrected.

_He is so stubborn,_ she asserted to herself, frustrated.

_He can be happy,_ her inner Voice told her. _But he has to be willing to take the risk of loving and being loved. That is unbelievably difficult for him. It's something he has no experience with.  
_

"You deserve a chance at happiness, and if only one chance presents itself to you, you cannot let it get away. You cannot let _her_ get away."

"And what do I do when I say something to her and she takes off? Then I have nothing. At least now I get to see her every day, to talk to her, to be with her."

"Suppose she feels the same way? Are you both going to continue in this lose-lose relationship when you can have so much more?"

He shook his head slowly. She didn't understand. "Ellie, Alex has never shown any sort of interest in me beyond our work relationship."

"Because if she had, you would have gone into hiding. You would have withdrawn entirely from her because you weren't ready to accept her. Now, you are ready and you need to let her know. Bobby, if you have never done another thing in your life, trust me on this."

"How can you be so certain?"

_You have to make him see that he is important to her,_ her inner Voice urged. _He won't allow himself to see that he is._

"Close your eyes, Bobby, and just listen to me. Don't say anything. Concentrate on Alex and think about her. See her in your mind. She found out about your mother's schizophrenia." She paused to allow him time to remember. "You told her about your mother's cancer." Another pause as he remembered the reaction from Eames that he had discounted. "Your mother died." Pause. "Your mother's funeral." Pause. "Your brother died." Another pause. _I need you._ He trembled involuntarily. She grasped his arm and squeezed. "Your brother's funeral." _I care about you...because I love you._ "You left to come up here." _...because I love you._

Ellie didn't say anything else. She left him to think about the memories she had just resurrected. Somehow she knew the right thing to do was to let him think. She settled back into the comfortable couch and closed her eyes.

Memories roiled through his mind, unchecked. His first days at Major Case. The years that followed. Her pregnancy. Tates. His suspension. Looking down the barrel of her gun. The difficult times they were only just crawling out from under. Everything that ran through his head centered on Eames. He rose from the couch and walked to a window, looking out toward the restless sea. He didn't move when she stepped up beside him. Quietly, he said, "I understand the ocean."

"It's restless, untamed, like you are. Anyone who tries to harness the sea becomes lost to it. Is that what you fear? That you will consume her?"

"I'm afraid I already have, but it's not something I can change. I can no longer extricate myself from her."

"So why try? Don't you think that she is where she wants to be?"

"I think she's stuck where she is."

"You think too little of yourself. There is something about you that makes her stay. Try to see yourself as she does."

He shook his head. "That's not someplace I want to go. I used to try to read her, to get into her head. I wasn't even aware I was doing it until she called me on it. She read me the riot act, said I was treating her the way I do the criminals we arrest and she forbade me to ever try to get into her head, so I don't."

Ellie sighed. "You make this a lot more complicated than it has to be."

He heard the frustration in her tone and smiled. "That's what I do."

With a light laugh, she returned to the couch. He watched her and the stirrings of good humor faded. Silently, he crossed the room and sat beside her again. He had found it easy to relax with Ellie nearby, but that calm in his soul was disturbed by the knowledge that she was dying. He had made a mistake the night before, calling Eames. He could not rely on her every time his life took a turn into left field. This was something he had to deal with on his own.

* * *

As the room darkened, Ellie adjusted herself on the couch into a more comfortable position. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he did not pull away. Quietly, she said, "There is something I am curious about."

"What's that?"

She didn't answer right away, trying to find the right way to phrase her question. Finally, she decided there was no delicate way to ask, so she put it out there directly. "What is sex like?"

His entire body tensed at the question, like a father who had just been asked where babies come from by a four-year-old. His tongue tangled and he tripped over a couple of words before he stopped trying. Ellie laughed softly. "It's not something I will ever experience," she said. "But it's so pervasive in our culture, in cultures around the world...I just wonder what all the fuss is about. Is it worth it?"

"Y-Yes. It's worth it. But...I really don't know how to answer your question. It's a very personal experience. It's a unique kind of tension and a release that can't easily be put into words. I had no time for it when my mother was dying, and no real inclination until a few months after she died, but it's not something I would readily give up."

"Why is that?"

He shrugged. "I, uh, I like it too much," he answered honestly.

"I don't suppose it's difficult to find someone to do it with?"

"Not really, no. I can usually get a date when I need one."

She nodded slowly. "I see. I just wondered if it was worth the reputation it has."

"I think it is. There are others who may not. And then you have people who claim it's not but hide a great appetite for it behind closed doors." He shifted where he sat and she readjusted her head. "Sex can be whatever you want it to be. There are so many variations, and different things turn on different people. No two experiences are the same, and no two people ever have the same experience, even when they are with each other."

"So it's complicated?"

"Very. And hard to explain without demonstrating."

"I see. Well, thank you for trying."

"Do you think you're missing much?"

"Not for what I get in return, no. I love my life. I love being a nun. I have had a satisfying, fulfilling life. But it's almost over, and I was just curious."

She became quiet, and he wasn't sure when she fell asleep, but she did. He shifted his position, settling into the corner of the couch and letting her rest against him more comfortably. He put an arm around her and she snuggled against him naturally in her sleep. She had an uncanny way of putting him at ease, and he soon fell asleep as well.

* * *

Deep in the night, Ellie woke, disoriented. She focused on her surroundings, first becoming aware of the rise and fall of the chest beneath her head, and then of the arm holding her close,. She felt comfortable, warm and protected, and it was a nice feeling. He was trying to protect her from what was to come, but that wasn't possible. For the first time, it occurred to her that that, although she accepted what was happening, he might take it hard. Was there any way she could ease his sorrow? That would take some thought. Carefully, she slipped away from him, unfolding the blanket at the foot of the couch and covering him with it. She softly kissed his cheek. Then she silently left the house and hurried down the street toward her own home.

* * *

The sun woke Goren in the morning. He stretched and sat up, scrubbing his hands over his face. He didn't recall having any nightmares, which was unusual, especially since Frank and Nicole had been killed. He never welcomed dreams of Nicole, but he was unable to keep them away.

After showering and finishing off a cup of coffee and half a bagel, he walked down the street to see Ellie. As he approached the house, he saw her sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket. Her face was pale, and she was sweating and shivering all at once.

His expression drew into a frown as he crossed the garden. "Ellie?"

She looked toward him, surprised. "I didn't see you coming, Bobby."

"Are you all right?"

She didn't answer immediately. When she did, she spoke with honesty. "No, dear. I'm not well today at all. Last night was a good night, but I'm afraid it may have been my last good one. I...I think I'm turning the corner toward the Light."

He ran a hand over his hair, turning away and then back. "Ellie..."

"Shhh..." she whispered, waving her hand weakly. "It's all right, Bobby."

"No! No, it's not all right!"

"Yes, it is. I'm ready for this. It's what is coming, and we can't change it. Listen to me. I want you to go down to the beach. Take a nice walk and think about everything we've talked about. Come back later this afternoon. I'll tell Mother to let you in to see me. Promise you'll come back."

He trembled with impotent rage, not at her, but at the universe at large. He drew in a deep breath and slowly nodded. "I'll be back."

She smiled, and he still saw the sun in her face. Turning, he stormed through the gate and walked away down the street.

* * *

When he returned to Ellie's house, there was another car parked behind hers. He entered the garden and mounted the steps to the porch. Mary Stuart opened the door and studied him with the same disapproving glare she'd given him the first time she saw him. "I would send you away," she said. "But I promised my daughter I would let you in to see her."

She stepped back to let him into the house. "She's in her last hours. Do nothing to upset her, do you understand me?"

He nodded. "I understand."

She led him to a room on the second floor. The light in the room was dim, but he could make out a form on the bed. The person sitting beside her spoke softly, then rose and approached the door. Goren recognized the man as a priest. His pleasant round face was drawn in grief. He extended a hand toward Goren. "I am Father Charles, Ellie's pastor and confessor, and her friend."

Goren took the warm hand, surprised by the firmness of the priest's grip. "I'm Robert Goren, just her friend."

Father Charles nodded and stepped past him, gently grasping Mary's arm. "Come, Mary. We can pray while Ellie visits with her friend."

Mary gave Goren another look before she went with Father Charles. Goren watched them go, then he went into the room and approached his dying friend to say good-bye. Instead of sitting in the chair, he sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand in his. She opened her eyes and smiled at him, but some of the sun had dimmed from her face. She squeezed his hand, but her strength was failing. Her voice was soft. "You underestimate yourself, Bobby. You are worth loving, worth being loved. I know, because over these past few days, I came to understand what it means to be in love."

He shook his head slowly. "Ellie...no..."

Her smile didn't fade. "It's a good thing, Bobby. For the last few days of my life, God let me know what it was like."

A stormy look crossed his face. "Your God has a cruel sense of humor, then."

"It's not like that at all. This wasn't a punishment, but a reward for my fidelity and service. He brought you to me, to say thank you. It's a wonderful feeling, to love another person like that." She reached up and laid her hand on his cheek. "Talk to your Alex. Let her know what's in your heart. Only good can come from love."

He wasn't going to argue with her on her deathbed. He nodded his head, then leaned over and softly kissed her lips, lingering for a moment. Then he kissed her forehead. "Godspeed, Ellie."

"And God be with you, Bobby, whether or not you want Him to be."

He smiled, touching her lips with his fingertips. She kissed them and closed her eyes, sighing softly. He rose from the bed and left the room. Mary was waiting for him in the hall. "She'll not last til morning," she said. "By sunrise, she'll be with God."

"That will make her happy."

Her face softened. "So you do understand my Ellie."

"Yes, Mrs. Stuart. Thank you for letting me say good-bye."

"It's what Ellie wanted."

Father Charles met him at the bottom of the stairs. Goren shook his hand. "Ellie told me you said she was like the sun. That was a fitting comparison."

"I will miss her dearly."

Goren looked up toward the second floor. "So will I, Father."

He left the house.

* * *

He spent the night walking. He paced around the living room and the back deck. Then he went down to the beach and walked. It was nearly sunrise when he returned to the house to find Father Charles waiting for him. "I'm sorry, Father. I went down to the beach. I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"Not at all, son. I just got here. I wanted you to know that Ellie went home to God as the sun began to glow in the eastern sky."

Goren closed his eyes for a moment. "Thank you," was all he could manage to say to the priest.

Father Charles squeezed his shoulder and left. Goren went out onto the back porch and watched as the sun rose over the horizon. A new day was born, but somehow, the world seemed a dimmer place because one of its brightest lights had gone out.

In the back of his mind, Ellie's voice touched his memory. He gripped the railing with both hands and squeezed, closing his eyes, as he listened to what she had to say:

_Do not stand at my grave and weep,_

_I am not there, I do not sleep._

_I am in a thousand winds that blow,_

_I am the softly falling snow._

_I am the gentle showers of rain,_

_I am the fields of ripening grain._

_I am in the morning hush,_

_I am in the graceful rush_

_Of beautiful birds in circling flight,_

_I am the starshine of the night._

_I am in the flowers that bloom,_

_I am in a quiet room._

_I am in the birds that sing,_

_I am in each lovely thing._

_Do not stand at my grave and cry,_

_I am not there. I did not die.

* * *

_

**A/N: I am planning one more chapter, a resolution of sorts. _Do not stand at my grave and weep_ is by Mary Elizabeth Frye. I had always seen it cited as anonymous, but authorship was confirmed in 1998 by Abigail van Buren. **_  
_


	7. New Beat for A Different Drummer

He hadn't slept all night and he was exhausted, but he could not settle down. His emotions roiled and thoughts swam in and out of his head. _Eames...Declan...Frank...Eames...his mother...Nicole...Ellie... Eames... _No matter what he did, Eames kept returning to the forefront of his mind. Ellie had confronted him with his own deeply buried emotions, and he still hadn't figured out how she knew. There was something about that woman that buried itself into the core of him and read him like an open book. Thankfully, no one else he'd ever known had that ability. He would miss her, and he grieved that she was gone, but it wasn't the same kind of grief that had crippled him when his mother died. Ellie's unwavering faith and powerful love for everything made it impossible for him to believe she would not continue on in the bosom of her loving God. Because of her, he wished he had faith, but in spite of her, he was still unable to find it. Thanks to Ellie, though, he was also unable to keep Eames out of his head.

That afternoon, while he was out on the back deck, smoking, the doorbell rang. An untouched sandwich sat on the railing with a mostly empty beer beside it. He put out his cigarette and went inside to answer the door, surprised to find his partner standing on the porch, looking decidedly unhappy. "Eames, what are you doing here?"

"I didn't like the way you ended our last conversation. You never called back and I didn't get any answer when I called you, so I drove all the way up here on my day off to make sure you're okay. You didn't sound too okay." She studied him with a critical eye that knew him well and some of her irritation faded. "You don't look so okay, either."

He looked at the ground, filled with remorse that he'd worried her. "I've been...preoccupied," he offered by way of apology.

He stepped back and motioned for her to come in. Maybe he wasn't okay at the moment, but he would be. Like a runaway freight train, Ellie had barreled into his life and gone out of it, leaving him stunned and shell-shocked. She'd touched his life so briefly, but she left behind a changed man.

All his life, he had walked to the beat of a different drummer. When his mother died, that cadence became silent, and he went searching for it. Now, it was back, and he was settling into a familiar march, but there were some new beats tossed in. The new rhythm would allow him to march with another person. It was the first step toward allowing Eames to get closer to him. And it was Ellie who had re-started the drummer and changed the beat. _Only good can come from love. Let her love you._

She walked into the living room before she turned toward him, her voice still carrying a hard edge. "Preoccupied? With your friend?"

He nodded and turned away from her. He recognized her tone and he knew things would not go well from here on out. He knew he didn't have the strength to handle a fight with Eames.

She watched him withdraw and decided she had not come this far to watch him pace and breathe. She followed him onto the back deck as she reconsidered her approach. When did anger or aggression ever serve her well where he was concerned? All it ever did was send him scurrying some place she could never follow. She stepped up beside him as he braced himself on the railing and hung his head. Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers. "What happened with your friend?" she asked in a completely different tone of voice.

He looked at her, surprised by the change. Her face was soft, open, an expression he had not seen in a very long time. She caught him offguard and vulnerable. "She...died, early this morning."

Now everything changed. She looked the way she had when she'd arrived at his place the night Frank died. Her hand gently stroked his arm. Sympathy. That's what this was. But they weren't arguing, and he would take what he could get.

The look of abject misery on his face cut her to the core. "I didn't know you had a friend up here." Before she could stop herself, though, she added, "Of course I don't know much about most of your friends."

Annoyed by her jab at his private nature, he countered with "And how many of your friends do I know, Eames?"

She tensed and withdrew her hand from his arm, and he knew he'd said the wrong thing. He was trying to make up his mind about whether he cared or not as he vacillated between annoyance and apathy. He finally settled on his stock response. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"You need to talk to me, Goren, if you want me to stay. I am fed up with chasing you all over creation to get nothing from you. If you don't want me around, I'll go back to the city and see you when you come back to work."

He knew exactly what that meant: no contact. She wouldn't take any of his calls, no matter how often he tried, and he would be faced with weeks of her cold shoulder. He closed his eyes and hung his head. He couldn't handle that any more. She was going to do him in with her bursts of temper over behaviors that were natural to him and hard as hell to change. He wasn't going to get over a lifetime of conditioning overnight.

When he remained silent, she let out a sound that was halfway between a huff and a growl, and she turned and walked away. If he let her go, his life would become more uncertain than it had ever been. "No, Eames..." he insisted, his tone more command than plea.

Surprised, she turned around and looked at him, annoyed. "What did you say?"

He crossed to her in a couple of easy strides and gripped her shoulders firmly. "Don't go," he said firmly, determined not to beg. "I-I do want you...here. I-I think...no, I do...I need you."

The thought of her leaving was suddenly unbearable. He had no idea what was happening to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it at all. _Nothing bad can come of love._ He thought of his mother and wondered how true Ellie's words really were. What would he gain in declaring his feelings? What could he lose?

Eames watched him, wondering what was going through his head. This was the second time he told her that he needed her in the span of a month. She did not doubt his sincerity, but she wondered what had happened to him to push him toward her this time. She wasn't sure what to make of him these days. He was so unpredictable. He needed stability but she had no idea how to provide it. She lost patience with him more often than she used to, and she had trouble hiding her irritation. Sometimes she didn't even bother trying. She was also aware that her attitude got to him more often than he let on. He tried to hide his distress, but he wasn't very good at it, not with her. There were many times when the look in his eyes or the expression on his face almost crushed her resolve to be mad at him. Almost.

He continued looking into her face, but he released her shoulders and stepped away when she didn't respond to him. She reached out and grabbed his arm. He stopped but did not turn. "Don't, Bobby. Please don't withdraw from me."

He continued looking at the floor. "I...I don't know what to do."

She watched him, and her heart went out to him. She tightened her grip on his arm and said, "Come on. Let's go for a walk on the beach."

* * *

Side by side, they walked down the beach. His gaze was focused on the sand and she kept glancing his way. There had to be a reason he called her, even if he denied it, and he hadn't been joking when he forbade her to leave. She was surprised by his commanding manner, a stance he had never taken with her before. Slowly, she moved her hand toward him, lightly touching the back of his hand. He jerked away, startled. She hadn't withdrawn her hand, and when he looked at it, she turned her palm upward, making her intention very clear.

He looked at her hand and moved his closer, tentatively. He touched her palm and she slipped her hand into his and closed it. He folded his fingers around hers and she stepped closer to him as they walked. He resumed looking down at the sand, but his entire being was focused on the point where her hand joined his.

They continued to walk in silence, holding hands. Finally, she said, "Tell me about your friend."

Any tension that had left him returned with her request. Her hand tightened around his, encouraging him. He drew in a deep breath. "Her name was Ellie."

"Did you know her for long?"

Most of his friends that she had met, like Lewis, were longtime buddies. "Uh, no. Not long."

"What happened to her?"

His hand tightened reflexively around hers. "She...was terminally ill."

"And you felt sorry for her?"

"What? No, not at all. I didn't know." He sighed. "She was a special person, Eames. She talked to me, tried to help me. She _did_ help me. I feel almost whole for the first time in a very long time, maybe since I was little, before my mother's schizophrenia manifested itself."

That _was_ a very long time, more than forty years. But her mind stopped on one phrase. "Almost whole?"

He nodded. "There's only one person who can make me complete, and it wasn't her. But she got me thinking seriously about...things."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"My life, in general. My faith, how and why I lost it, if I could ever get it back. She, uh, she tried to figure me out, to help me recover my bearings and regain the ground I lost while my mother was dying."

"I give her credit. Trying to figure you out is a full time job."

"She was pretty good at it."

"So where is this one person who can make you complete?"

"Not far."

"Someone I know?"

He nodded, shoving his free hand into his pocket. She moved in a little closer and reached out to him. Lightly, she rubbed his arm and he closed his eyes and swallowed. Her touch ignited a fire in his gut that he found hard to keep contained. Eames rarely touched him, and now he was glad. He felt conflicted. The heat she generated was pleasant and disturbing, both at the same time.

She was trying to encourage and reassure him, but she had the feeling she was doing neither. So she withdrew her hand.

Her withdrawal hit him like a physical blow, and he stopped walking. She stopped and turned toward him, a silent question on her face.

As he watched her face, he realized he should have made a bet with Ellie because he was certain he was about to prove her wrong. He and Eames had entered into an uneasy status quo, and he was about to upset the apple cart. This would either prove Ellie right or get him shot. He brought one hand to her face, gently brushing the backs of his fingers over her skin. Silently, she stared at him, uncertain. His fingers barely trembled where they touched her skin, but his face remained guarded, looking for a response from her.

If he had tried this four or five years ago, before the problems between them developed, before her kidnapping and the re-opening of Joe's murder investigation, before Ross, she would have eagerly welcomed him. But there were still things between them that were unresolved, things in her own heart that kept her uncertainty front and center.

On the other hand, she did not have the will power to reject him. Regardless of the chasm that kept them at a distance from one another, one they had both contributed to, she loved him. In his own way, she knew he loved her, too. But was it enough to overcome the formidable obstacles that stood in their way?

For a moment, she pressed her cheek against his fingers. Then she reached up and lightly grasped his hand. Relieved that he did not resist, she drew his hand from her face but kept it tucked within her grasp. She knew she was sending a mixed message that would confuse him, but she also knew he would realize there was hope. She did not reject him outright.

When she stepped away to continue walking down the beach, he went with her. Neither of them spoke. They both had a lot to think about.

* * *

Eames had not missed the untouched sandwich or the empty beer on the back deck at the house, and it didn't take a stroke of brilliance to deduce that her partner hadn't eaten. Reluctantly, she recalled the days following his mother's death. She'd been one step from forcing him to eat at gunpoint. Okay, maybe two steps. His diet wasn't the best to start with. He liked processed meats too much and greens and fruits too little. So her first order of business was to get the man to eat.

Goren had no idea what to think about her response to him. She hadn't rejected him, but she hadn't welcomed him, either. All she had to do was tell him to back off and that would be the end of it. He was not going to risk driving her from his life by forcing himself on her. Besides, that wasn't his nature. Her partnership with him was most important, and he didn't want to put that in jeopardy. She had to know that. But, God help him, he _wanted_ more. He wanted _her_. But now he had no idea what to do about it.

When they got back to the house, Eames went into the kitchen. She took stock of the nearly empty cupboards and the pathetic contents of the refrigerator. There was nothing there for her to work with, and she was not having pastrami and beer for dinner.

Stepping out of the kitchen, she looked at Goren, who was standing by the furthest window, hands in his pockets, lost in thought. "Come on, Goren," she said, trying for tough but not quite making it.

He turned from the window and looked at her, his face still a mask of confusion. "Where are we going?"

"There is nothing decent to eat in this house, so we're going out to dinner. I'll pay, but when we get back to New York, I am going to take you food shopping, and that's on you."

"You don't have to..."

"Think carefully..." she warned, cutting him off as she approached him. "...before you complete that sentence. The only thing I want from you is your promise that you will finish this meal."

"Eames, we...we need to talk..."

"And we will. But that's not as important as getting dinner." She hesitated before deciding it would be cruel not to reassure him. He knew as well as she did that they hadn't yet weathered the storm between them, but she had to make it clear that at least they'd finally steered clear of the rocks. "We're okay, Bobby. And I think we'll be fine, once we work things out. All right?"

He understood that she was sincere. She did not want to give up on him, as he feared. So many others had walked away, giving up on him without ever really trying. The ones who had tried found it too hard to scale the walls he'd built up around him. With few exceptions, the friends he had didn't have any desire to delve too deep. They accepted what he could offer and let him be. Eames, however, was different. She was the exception to every rule in his life. She was the only one who wanted more and had not given up in the face of his resistance. Finally, he nodded. "All right, Eames. We'll do it your way."

When she smiled and turned toward the front door, he heaved a sigh and wondered what he had done. He reminded himself too late that once Pandora's box was open, it could never be closed again.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, I was wrong. I thought I could resolve this in one more chapter, but it wasn't realistic. So there's more to come.**


	8. Changing Pace

They ate at a small diner specializing in seafood. After all, it was New England. She ordered shrimp scampi and he got fish and chips. She gave him a disapproving look. Baffled, he asked, "What?"

"Fried food isn't your best friend any more than that processed garbage you eat."

"I never tried to make friends with my food."

She sighed. "Bobby, you aren't 25 any more. You have a stressful job and you don't get enough sleep. The least you can do is try to eat right."

"I do, sometimes. It just...it takes time and effort to fix meals, and it's not really worth it for just me. I don't really see the point when take out is so much more, uh, convenient."

"The point is, if you don't care, I do. I don't want to see you having a heart attack in five years."

He stared at her for a moment before he realized what he was doing and averted his gaze. Hell, in five years he might not even be around, but he would never tell her that. The last thing he wanted to do was say anything that reminded her about what had happened to Joe. But he knew there could be a bullet with his name on it behind any door they busted down, with any perp they chased into an alley, or during any hostage situation. And she'd once read him the riot act for putting himself in the line of fire too often. But that was his job, and he would continue to do it. He wasn't afraid to die, but he was afraid of what it might do to her if he did. She might not want to hop into bed with him, but she did care about him. She said she loved him, though he had yet to figure out how, and he didn't want to play games with her heart. He nodded his head slowly. "I'll see what I can do about it," he said as he folded and unfolded his napkin. "If it makes you feel any better, my cholesterol is just fine and my heart is strong."

_Heart of a lion,_ she thought. Strong and loyal. She watched him fiddle with his napkin as he shifted with characteristic restlessness. As exhausted as he appeared to be, he still could not sit still. "Are you nervous?" she asked out of the blue.

"Uh, no. Not really. I'm just...keyed up. I still don't get why you're here, Eames."

She struggled not to let her annoyance show. "That's one of your main problems, Bobby. You just don't get it."

"So fill me in. What don't I get?"

She could no longer hide her irritation, and she snapped, "I care about you, you jackass. I honestly care about you or I would have left your ass at Tate's."

The reminder of his time in the jail hit him like a lightning bolt. He straightened his back and his expression became unreadable. His jaw tensed and he averted his eyes, and he became very still, except for an almost undetectable tremor. When she noticed the slight shaking of his hands, she knew that had been the wrong thing to say to make her point. Without even thinking about it, she knew exactly what to say to push his buttons when he annoyed her. "Bobby, I didn't mean..."

He waved his hand, dismissing her apology. "Go back to New York, Eames. I really don't need this."

When he made a move to stand, she pointed a threatening finger at him. "Stay right where you are, dammit," she hissed.

Stunned, he stopped. She still couldn't read his face, but she knew she'd struck a low blow and he was angry. The waiter showed up just then with a bottle of wine, hesitating when he saw the face-off between them. When Goren looked away and forced his shoulders to relax and Eames looked up at the waiter with a forced smile, he showed her the bottle, opening it when she nodded and pouring the ruby liquid into each of their glasses. She took a deep drink before she spoke again. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was low and I shouldn't have said it."

"So why did you?"

She was not used to being challenged by him and she didn't know what to make of it. "Because you pissed me off," she answered honestly.

He shifted his gaze back to her, but his mouth was no longer set in a grim line. "So you thought you'd repay the favor?"

"Exactly."

She was relieved to see his face relax into an expression she recognized; now he was amused. She wished like hell she could let go of her anger the way he could. She took a deep breath and another drink of wine. "I don't understand why it's so hard for you to believe that I care about you, that anyone cares about you."

"Why? You know how I was raised. If my own mother never saw worth in me, why should anyone else?"

So much about him suddenly became crystal clear with those words. She bit her lip to keep from saying "Oh, Bobby." She knew he wouldn't appreciate her sympathy. Instead, she tried to put bite into her words without succeeding. "I'm not your mother, but I do care about you, very much. Dammit, Goren, every time someone points a gun at you, I lose five years of my life. You have no idea how painful it was for me to watch you fall apart these past few years and be rejected every time I tried to help you. I don't know where you went, and I couldn't follow you, but I'm glad you came back."

"It was a very dark place, and I didn't want you there with me. You...you spent enough time in your own dark place."

She gave that some thought. "All right. I get that. But did it ever occur to you that maybe I could help bring you back into the light?"

He shook his head. "I had to stay where I was for awhile, Eames. I had to find my own way back or I could never have left it behind."

Knowing him as well as she did, and looking back over the year he spent watching his mother die, she understood as well as she was able to what he meant. Her kidnapping and the fallout between them certainly did not help matters.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their food. Fried food might not be good for him, but at least it was a decent meal, which was probably more than he had been getting. She stabbed a piece of shrimp and offered it to him. He hesitated and she moved it closer. Finally he took it, offering her a bite of fish in return. With a warm smile, she took the bite, and he returned her smile. It faded after a minute, and he said, "I don't like fighting with you."

"I don't like it, either, but it's part of life, part of any normal human relationship."

"But you carry grudges," he complained.

She laughed. "Sometimes, I have trouble letting go of my anger, yes. But I've always forgiven you, eventually." She held out her hand, and he placed his into it. "If I didn't care, Bobby, you could never hurt me."

He looked at their joined hands and ran his thumb over her knuckles. "I don't know how to take that."

"It's a good thing. Don't think I never got mad at Joe. After we'd been married for about seven months, I caught him having dinner at a really nice restaurant with another woman. I locked him out of the house and threw half his clothes out the bedroom window onto the lawn. It was days before he caught up with me at work and explained himself. She was his cousin. She'd been out of the country and couldn't make our wedding, so I'd never met her before. Then I was mad at him for not introducing us beforehand. Poor guy felt like he couldn't do anything right that time."

He smiled softly. "I know the feeling."

She looked at her plate, then back at him. "Yeah, I guess you do. My point is, I may get mad, but I care enough to always forgive you."

He looked up, surprised. "Always?"

She smiled warmly. "Yes. Always. I am trying to understand you, and I don't always succeed, but I have forgiven you for the things that have upset me."

He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or grateful, but as he studied her, he made up his mind. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers before releasing her hand and taking a drink of his wine. He forgave her, too, but he didn't have to tell her. She never knew there was anything for him to forgive.

* * *

After they were done eating, he paid their check and followed her from the restaurant. She watched him as they walked away from the diner. He'd had a lot of wine, but to her eye, he seemed all right. He was just...quiet. But she let him be as they walked back to the Mayfield house. He unlocked the door without difficulty, and they went into the living room. In the light, his fatigue was obvious. She touched his arm.

"When was the last time you slept?"

"Uhm, what day is it?"

"Dammit, Bobby..."

"Please, Eames..." _No lecture._

He was too tired to speak the words and too exhausted to realized he hadn't. He turned away and dropped onto the couch as she went into the kitchen. When she came back into the living room, she stepped up behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders. She began to knead his shoulder muscles, and he did not object. She continued until his head began to nod, then she came around the couch to sit on one end. Gently, she coaxed him into laying down on the couch. He resisted at first, but soon gave in, resting his head in her lap.

With one hand, she rubbed his back and side while she combed through his hair with the other. Gradually, she felt him relax, and his breathing leveled out and deepened. She reached in front of him for the remote, and he continued to sleep.

As she watched television, she absently caressed his hair. She had always wanted to play with his hair, and she wasn't disappointed. It was soft to the touch and she loved the feel of it. He was sleeping soundly, and she was glad. It was obvious to her he was fatigued from lack of sleep, and she knew he needed the rest. Although Ellie's death had delivered an unexpected blow to him, there was something that had taken place between them that mitigated his grief. He'd told her little about Ellie, but she got the impression she had been remarkable. It took a remarkable person to make a deep and lasting impression on her partner.

* * *

Sometime after ten, fatigue began to wear on Eames. With difficulty, she roused her partner. "It's getting late. How about going to bed?"

Disoriented, he looked around the room and blinked. "I've been sleeping here."

"On the sofa?"

"Or on the back deck."

She stared at him. "Bobby, there are five bedrooms in this house."

"Not my house," he murmured, settling his head back on her thigh.

She stroked his hair some more, playing with the curls that formed at his forehead. His eyelids were heavy, and he was still deeply fatigued and emotionally spent. With a small smile, she whispered, "I am not going to sleep on the couch or on the porch."

"Sleep where you want," he replied sleepily.

"What about you?"

He made a noise that sounded like a grunt. "'M okay here," he said.

"Suppose I'm not okay with you here?" she answered softly.

He was quiet for so long she thought he'd gone back to sleep. She was almost right. His muscles jerked with the effort not to fall asleep. "Why's it matter?"

When she didn't answer, he rolled onto his back and looked at her from under heavy lids. "I came all this way to see you," she said, her voice soft and soothing.

He was not on his best game, and he didn't even try to figure her out. When she gave his arm a playful tug and said, "Come on," he didn't question her. She led him upstairs to the larger of the two guest rooms and left him sitting on the edge of the bed.

Thinking she was not coming back, he yanked off his shirt and dropped it on the floor by his shoes. Laying back, he gave in once again to his exhaustion, and he slept.

Eames returned to the room, still uncertain of her intentions. Part of her was relieved to find him sleeping; part of her was not. She set her overnight bag on the foot of the bed to withdraw a pair of sleep pants and a matching sleeveless shirt. She changed quickly and turned off the light.

She did not hesitate as she slid into the bed beside him, but she remained on her own side of the large bed, thinking. First and foremost in her mind was Joe. Did she honestly have it in her to take the plunge and love another cop?

As she watched her partner sleep in the dim light that filtered past the shades, she realized that whether or not she had it in her, it was too late. Ten years ago, she had promised herself she wouldn't do what she was finally ready to admit she _had_ done. She had fallen for another cop. Unlike Joe, this one could be reckless and single-minded, but he could also be sweet and caring. In spite of his shortcomings, or maybe in part because of them, she had fallen in love with him. He was far from perfect, but he had firmly entrenched himself within her heart.

"Dammit, Goren," she whispered to the sleeping man. "Why did you do this to me?"

She nestled into the soft mattress and fluffy pillows, and then she snuggled against her partner. He made a noise she couldn't quite identify, but he didn't waken. Instead, he rolled into her, draping an arm over her. She lightly brushed her lips over his and listened to his slow, deep breathing, which lulled her to sleep.


	9. A Journey Starts

Eames woke the next morning with the weight of an arm laying across her middle. Goren's body was curled around hers and he was sleeping soundly. In the light that filtered through the shades, she watched him sleep. For so long he had run on a growing sleep debt, and she wondered when the last time was that he had gotten a night of good, restful sleep. Reaching toward him, she sifted her fingers through his hair. He had been so utterly exhausted the night before; she was glad to see him sleeping well.

Snuggling closer to his body, she smiled when his arms tightened around her. She nestled her head under his chin and listened to his slow, deep breathing. Her heart swelled with love for the gentle man who held her, and she drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Goren woke slowly. The first thing he became aware of was the woman snuggled against his body. He didn't even try searching his memory for the circumstances that brought her there; there would be time for that after he woke more fully. It definitely wasn't something new for him, and his body reacted as it did every morning he woke with someone in his arms. His head ached from the wine he'd had, and he knew it had only worsened his fatigue, but a quart of water and half a pot of coffee would have him feeling better.

He rubbed his hand over his bedmate's shirt, enjoying the feel of it. Beneath the soft cloth, he felt a compelling combination of defined muscle and soft curves. He turned more fully onto his side and buried his face in her hair...then he froze. A familiar scent filled his nose and fear gripped his gut with an icy hand. _Eames. _

His mind spun as he tried to recall the night before. He'd been so damn tired, but he would have sworn he got into this bed alone. Beside him, Eames moved closer, breathing out a content sigh. He desperately wished his body would calm down but his mind was on the losing end of the deal. _Now what?_ he thought, at a total loss over what to do. If she woke in his arms, would she blame him for it? What should he do now?

He didn't have a chance to resolve his conflict. She drew in a deep breath and reached over her head to stretch. _Oh...don't do that_, he thought desperately.

Eames stretched, and she felt good. She had slept better than she had since Frank Goren died because, for once, she did not have to worry about his brother. She actually felt refreshed. It wasn't until she was done stretching that she realized he was awake...and very tense.

She rolled onto her side to face him, bringing herself into closer contact with his body than she intended, and she realized he had another problem that probably added to his tension.

His eyes widened. Mortified, he scrambled from the bed. "I, uh...Eames..."

He had no idea what to say, how to apologize. After a few false starts, he turned and left the room. He went into the bathroom and stood by the sink, hanging his head. _What have I done now? And I don't even remember doing it!_

He hadn't been drunk, just physically exhausted and emotionally depleted. He remembered being on the couch with her behind it, kneading his shoulders. He must have nodded off for a bit because the next thing he knew, his head was in her lap and she was combing her fingers through his hair. That was the most intimate she'd ever been with him. He remembered thinking he'd better sit up, move away from her, but that was the last thing he remembered. There was a fuzzy recollection of her getting him up and guiding him to the bedroom, but then she left the room and he'd gone to bed. It could have been a dream, but he woke up in the bed. He had no memory at all of her being there, but there she was, curled into his side when he woke up. _Curled into his side_...an all-too-familiar warmth stirred his body.

Swearing under his breath, he turned on the shower and got in.

* * *

Eames watched him leave the room and she wondered what was going through his mind. She carried no regrets about climbing into bed with him. Having him close, being held by him...she felt a certain guilty pleasure at the warmth that coursed through her at the memory of it. She sensed they were at a turning point in their relationship and she felt a small pang of guilt at the thought she had set it all in motion. There were only two potential outcomes: they would draw closer or be driven further apart. She had every intention of drawing him in closer, and she hoped he would not buck off her attempt. She slid out of bed and opened her bag, pulling out a pair of jeans and a nice shirt.

Stepping out of the bedroom, she heard the shower in the bathroom at the end of the hall. She found a second bathroom and got into a nice hot shower.

When she came out, the shower was still running in the other bathroom. She knocked on the door. "Bobby? Are you okay?"

His answer was muffled by the running water and the door, but he sounded fine. She put away her nightclothes and went down to the kitchen for coffee.

Ten minutes later, Goren came down the stairs. He was wearing black jeans and a blue NYPD t-shirt. She watched him pour a cup of coffee and get a large glass of water. He sat at the opposite side of the table as she took a sip of coffee. "Can I get you breakfast?"

He shook his head. The headache had moved behind his eyes and he needed to get rid of it. He downed the water and sat quietly nursing his coffee. He refused to look at her, embarrassed about waking up with her and not remembering how they ended up in that situation.

She read his embarrassment but she wasn't sure why he was feeling that way. "Hey, talk to me."

He looked up. "You're, uh, not mad at me?"

She shook her head. "Why on earth would I be mad at you?"

He returned his gaze to the table, not knowing where to start. He had no idea why she was...His head jerked up when she rose from the table. She walked around to his chair and stood behind him. He started to turn. "What are you...?"

He stopped talking when she grabbed him and kept him from turning. She started to knead his shoulders, like she had the night before. Firmly, she worked the tense muscles at the base of his neck. He tipped his head forward. It had been such a long time since anyone, including Eames, had shown such tender concern for him. He felt his muscles begin to relax; the knots slowly untangled and it felt good. A soft groan escaped from him before he could give any thought to stopping it.

As she worked his shoulders, she watched his posture. He started out tense, but now he was beginning to relax. She wasn't sure where she was going with this. She just wanted him to not be miserable. She believed that his confusion about her was genuine, and she could not blame him. She had been sending him mixed signals for a long time, without even realizing she was. She had been running hot and cold for awhile now, but he made it so difficult to tell what he was going to respond to.

She leaned over his shoulder and asked, "Are you ready to come home?"

"Not quite," he replied. "I have a funeral to go to."

She pulled a chair closer and sat beside him. "Would you like me to stay and go with you?"

He studied her face, caught off-guard by her offer. "Yes," he admitted. "I would."

He surprised her. She waited for him to change his answer, but he didn't, and that thrilled her. She smiled and nodded. "Then I'll stay."

He looked away, not returning her smile. He knew she would stay if he asked her to, but he hadn't expected to ask her. He didn't know why she wasn't angry with him, and he wasn't sure how he felt about waking up with her. Part of him felt good about it, but another part of him didn't want to feel good about it, so he was conflicted. He got up from the table and went into the kitchen for another cup of coffee.

When he didn't come right out, Eames followed him. He was looking out the window over the sink. She stepped up to his side and touched his arm. He looked at her and she gave him a warm smile, nodding her head over her shoulder. "Let's go down to the beach and take a walk."

He took a drink of his coffee, then set the cup in the sink. He followed her from the house.

They walked together in silence on the hard-packed sand. "Tell me more about Ellie," she said, curious about the mysterious woman who had made such an impression on her private partner.

"What do you want to know? I didn't know her long, Eames."

"But she had an impact on you."

He nodded. "Yes, she did."

"Did you know her before you came up here?"

"No. I met her the first day I was here."

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. In just a few days, Ellie seemed to have gotten past Goren's defenses, something that had taken her years. She felt an uncomfortable pang of jealousy toward a woman she'd never met who'd died the day before...and that made her feel guilty, which made her angry. "So, how did this woman get to you in three days when I couldn't do that in three years?"

He looked at her, surprised. "What? Eames...you got to me a long time ago."

"What are you talking about?"

"Why do you think I didn't get along with Bishop? She wasn't you. I don't do well without you, at work or at home."

"It seems like you've been getting more and more distant, especially over the past couple of years."

He put his hands in his pockets and stared at the sand as they walked. "I was trying to protect you," he replied.

"Protect..._me_? From what?"

"From me. I...I was afraid of what would happen if I let you get any closer to me."

She decided to push. "Afraid of what would happen to who?"

"To both of us. I didn't want to risk losing you."

He had never been more open and honest with her, and she gave that some thought. She didn't notice when he stepped sideways, closer to her, until his arm brushed hers. She looked up at him and he leaned closer. "Why were you in bed with me this morning?"

She gave him an innocent smile. "You were just so comfortable."

"Was I?"

She didn't look away. He stopped and she turned to face him. His eyes darkened as he touched her arm with one hand and her cheek with the other. He slid his hand into her hair and pulled off the clip that kept her hair from being blown all over by the ocean breeze. Her hair fell out, past her shoulders, and the wind whipped it around, in her face and around her neck, as he watched, enchanted.

Battling the wind, she tried to push her hair back, out of her eyes, but it was not cooperating. Smiling, she turned to face the wind so her hair would feather out behind her and stay out of her face. He stepped around with an amused grin on his face. Playfully, she gave him a shove, then she turned and ran down the beach, hoping he would give chase. He did not disappoint her.

He chased her for a few hundred yards, letting her retain her lead briefly. By the time he caught her, she was laughing. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him. He buried his face in the hair that gathered around her neck, drawing in a deep breath. His arms tightened when she wiggled against him and he groaned. His lips brushed her ear, her cheek. She shifted and he found her mouth. With one hand she stroked the back of his neck while she combed through his hair with the fingers of the other.

He pulled back slowly, looking into her face as he bit his lower lip. He always relied on her better judgment, and now was no different. "If you think this is a bad idea, say so and it never happened," he whispered, his voice strained.

"I think this is a very bad idea," she replied after a moment. "But I have never wanted anything more."

She leaned up and captured his mouth in another deep kiss. His arms tightened around her and his tongue gently probed her lips, which parted to allow him entry. It was only then that he relaxed completely and gave himself over to the kiss. To his relief, she did the same.

* * *

The church was filled with mourners, and Goren wasn't surprised. People loved Ellie; that was no surprise. What did surprise him was to find that he had loved her, too. He looked at the woman seated in the pew beside him, and Ellie's voice whispered in his head. _You are afraid to love...Let her love you._ Ellie had been right about so many things. She had seen right into the heart of him and nailed him to the wall. He reached over and covered Eames' hand with his. She looked up at him and he gave her a sad smile. She slid closer to him, releasing his hand in favor of taking his arm. He felt oddly comforted by the gesture. Ellie had been right. Letting Eames have her way hadn't been the catastrophe he'd predicted. Far from rejecting him, she had drawn him closer, and he felt more at peace than he ever had.

Up at the altar, Father Charles had begun to deliver the eulogy, and Goren allowed himself to get lost in his memories of the brief time he had spent with Ellie. There had been two things Ellie seemed determined to do. First, she wanted to draw him from his self-imposed exile and open his eyes to love. Secondly, she'd tried to restore his faith. She had succeeded in the first, but not the second. He didn't have it in him to embrace faith the way she had. Maybe, someday, he would, but not now.

After the funeral Mass, they went to the smaller graveside service. The formal eulogy done, Father Charles now spoke to the crowd in a comfortable, personable way. He wasn't eulogizing now; he was remembering. His memories were of a bright, shining woman who embued everything she saw with life and love. Father Charles looked around at the small crowd, his gray eyes resting on Goren as he said, "Everyone who met Ellie was a better person for the encounter. It was impossible not to be touched and changed by the love that shone from her soul."

Goren swallowed hard, but he met the priest's eyes without wavering. Father Charles barely inclined his head, and Goren knew the man had privileged information that he would take to his own grave. He closed his eyes and again heard Ellie whispering in his mind. _I came to know what it means to be in love._

Eames somehow sensed his tension, looking up to see the familiar mask of grief on his face. She reached out and touched his hand. At his mother's funeral, he had dodged her every attempt to comfort him, but now, he seemed to welcome it. He closed his hand around hers and held it firmly.

* * *

The sun had long set. Goren reclined on the chaise lounge, listening to the crickets and cicadas compete for dominance of the night. The door to the house opened and closed, and Eames came up to him, holding out a beer. He gave her a sad smile and took the bottle with one hand, taking her hand in the other. Gently, he pulled her into his lap and drew her down against his chest. He leaned his head against hers and put his arms around her as she snuggled into him and made a soft noise of contentment. He kissed her temple. "Thank you," he murmured against her soft skin.

"What for?" she answered, a tiny shiver in her voice in response to his gentle tone.

His fingers caressed her back and she relaxed into him. He never thought he would know this kind of companionship, especially with Eames. But Ellie had been right. All he had to do was open the door a little and she took care of the rest. Instead of rejecting him, as he'd expected, she had embraced him, drawn him closer and let him know that she loved him--all without even saying it. He lifted her hair from her back and, moving his head, began kissing the nape of her neck. "Thank you--for everything. I don't think I ever said thank you."

She sighed. "Keep doing that and I'll be the one saying thank you."

Smiling, he continued to move his mouth and tongue over her skin. She trembled, thrilled by his attention. His other hand splayed over her stomach and she pressed into it. His mouth heated her skin and sent delightful shivers to the center of her body. "I love you," she said into his shoulder.

He stopped his exploration of her skin, caught off-guard by her confession. "Wh-what did you say?"

She shifted her weight and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "I said 'I love you'," she repeated with confidence.

"Oh." Her movement distracted him and he returned to his slow exploration with gentle kisses and a tender touch. "I love you, too, Eames."

She laughed, then squirmed a little when he found a ticklish spot just below her right breast. Her wiggling and laughing elicited a soft moan from him. She ran her thumb over his lower lip and quietly said, "If we're going to keep on going, I'd rather you didn't call me Eames."

He nodded, grabbing her thumb with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. When he released it, he asked, "Do you still think this is a bad idea?"

She tipped her head back as he kissed her throat. "Uh-hm," she replied. "But don't you dare stop."

His tongue teased the hollow above her collarbone. "Yes, ma'am," he murmured.

She pulled back. "What?"

"Just following orders," he assured her, moving back in to follow the curve of her throat around to her ear. "After all, you're the senior partner."

She smiled, then trembled when he hit a sensitive spot. "A little to the left," she directed.

He obliged and she rewarded him with a shudder and a squirm. "Oh...do that again," he whispered.

She shifted her hips and he made a noise that was half-groan, half-growl as he buried his face in her neck. His fingers hit another ticklish spot, and she laughed and squirmed. When he realized what was happening, he didn't let up. Still laughing, she wiggled her way from his grasp and launched herself out of his lap. He scrambled up to pursue.

She hurried down the steps and ran toward the beach, with him just yards behind her and gaining. She reached the water's edge as he caught her. She knew she was in trouble when he had no trouble finding the same spot. Laughing and squirming, she turned in his arms. Her laughter faded as his mouth covered hers. She buried her hands in his hair as the ocean lapped at their feet. "I love you, Alex Eames," he murmured into her mouth.

She smiled as she went in for another taste of him. It was a start.

_fin_


End file.
